


Blank Canvas

by cobain_cleopatra



Series: Little Crow [5]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Blackmail, Comfort/Angst, Dishonored AU, Fluff, Grumpy Daud, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, Snarky Corvo, So much angst, The Brigmore Witches DLC, Violence, whaler Corvo, younger Corvo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:19:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7914781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobain_cleopatra/pseuds/cobain_cleopatra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But how does it end for Daud, the hired killer, the murderer, the savior of the Empire.<br/>It's up to Corvo now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Manor

Corvo lay beneath the tomb, breaths short and abnormally quiet. Numbness had replaced the trembling from before. He flinched when his dark vision ended, and he was left surrounded by darkness. Squeaks and patters from a cluster of rats echoed faintly and reached his ears from further down the underground passage, but he didn’t look towards the sounds. His gaze was fixed, hazy but unwavering, on the stone wall in front of him.

Daud was going to die.

Had this been how it felt, Corvo questioned vaguely, when his sister had been taken from him? He couldn’t quite remember. He’d been a child. But he remembered being bellow deck in darkness as he was now. He had huddled in a corner of the ship, crying soundlessly and shaking, while Beatrici’s corpse sunk to the bottom of the ocean. He remembered feeling alone then, too.

Corvo chanced another look at the closed gravestone above him. _Open_ , he thought. _Let me see him again_. Nothing happened.

Corvo lowered his gaze, wishing out of the blue that the boatman was with him. The thought came from nowhere, unexpected and sudden, but the desire to hear Samuel’s voice hit him violently. He suspected the man would have some kind of answer for him, some wise old words of advice. Corvo would even settle for the cliché _everything will be all right_. But all he had was silence and rats.

The silence made it easy for his thoughts to stray. He wasn’t sure whether a laugh or a sob escaped him when he recalled Daud’s words, pressed into his hair, arms holding him close below the Undine in Draper’s ward. _I’d die for you, too. I want you to know that_. Corvo knew that now.

“Bastard,” he whispered. It was meant to be the other way around. It was always meant to be like that. Daud couldn’t die for him. That was Corvo’s job.

He looked at his fingers. Dried blood stained the tips. From Daud’s leg.

A violent shudder shook him at the sight, forcing his eyes to scrunch shut. He was angry, he realised. At Daud. At himself. At Delilah. Anger was better than numbness, than not being able to feel at all. It was a start.

Corvo latched onto that single emotion, and got to his feet; slowly, shakily, and using the passage wall behind him for support. But eventually he stood.

He had protected Daud for years. Sacrificed every Fugue to follow him, been interrogated about him, tortured for him. Daud wouldn’t die here, not after all the shit Corvo had been through to keep him safe. He wouldn’t allow it.

The smooth noise as he drew his blade resounded along the passageway, and he began to move.

***

Galia hissed when Akila tightened the bandage over her wound. “Can’t imagine why they kicked you out of the academy, with those clunky hands of yours.”

Akila raised an eyebrow. “I could leave you to bleed out, if you’d prefer,” the Whaler said, but he sealed her dressings even as he made the threat.

“You’d all fall apart without me, so it’s probably best if you don’t leave me to bleed to death.” She winced when Jordan’s grip on her hand became tight enough to bruise her. Galia patted his knuckles gently, “Ease off. I’m okay, you worrywart.”

Jordan managed a shaky smile, and Galia softened. She shuffled a litter closer to him along the rock, leaning against his shoulder and looking around at her comrades.

They were gathered near the shore, hidden from the Manor’s view by the cliff face. Waves crashed along the coast every now and again, and Galia found the sound soothing, compared to the carnage they’d been through in the grounds. As far as she could tell, her injuries had been the most severe. They hadn’t lost any of the men, thanks to Daud. He’d always been the most capable fighter Galia had ever known; he made the Overseers and Watch officers in the city look like flailing drunkards by comparison.

Galia waved at Thomas when he approached. “Before you ask, for the sixteenth million time, I’m alright. Akila’s taking care of me.”

Thomas gave a short nod. His gaze moved towards the path that led back to the Manor, searching.

Galia pursed her lips. “Daud’s still not back yet?”

“Or Corvo,” Thomas answered, tone laced with concern. “Maybe they made it inside the Manor. Or maybe something’s gone wrong.”

“Something’s always gone wrong,” Akila muttered cynically, beginning to wrap another bandage.

“Don’t waste them all on me.”

“Quiet,” the Whaler said, and Galia couldn’t find the willpower to argue again.

“Should we go back soon? Check things out?” she asked Thomas. “We could send a search party.”

Thomas looked conflicted, but after a few seconds he gave a shake of his head. “We have our orders. We’re to wait here until Daud returns, no matter what happens.”

Galia and Akila exchanged a subtle glance. Galia chewed on her lip. “And if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

“Thomas–”

“He will. They both will.” Thomas’s expression was uncharacteristically stern. “Daud told us to wait here, and I’m in charge until he returns and says otherwise. We will not disobey his orders. Am I clear?”

Galia chuckled. It strained her injury, but she couldn’t help herself. “No wonder Daud made you second. You sound just like him.”

A hint of pride shone on Thomas’s face, replaced seconds later by reddened cheeks. “I suppose I should be pleased by that, but I feel out of my depth. You lot are a pain.” He glanced around the group, jaw tense. “He asked me to keep you all safe, but I don’t know how he does it.”

“You’re doing fine,” Galia assured. “Just grumble under your breath a little more, bark at someone when they misbehave, and you’ll have him down to a tee.”

Thomas hummed in amusement, but remained shifting restlessly on the grass.

“Everyone here respects you, Thomas. Daud put you in charge for that reason.”

The Whaler granted her a small smile, then went to break up whatever spat Arden and Jenkins had gotten into. Galia watched him go fondly.

She smirked at Akila. “See? You’d all fall apart without me. I’m the wisdomous glue that holds you all together.”

“How ever did we survive before,” Akila murmured in answer.

Galia decided against biting out a comeback, in favour of nestling into Jordan’s side. She felt him press a kiss against her hair.

“I’m okay,” she repeated quietly, although in her own head she had acknowledged how close a call her injury was.

Those witches hadn’t been playing games. Whatever Delilah was up to, it was clear her coven would sacrifice their own lives for her, as Galia and the men would do for Daud. They’d all gone for the kill, and Galia knew she was lucky to still be breathing. She kept that knowledge to herself, and nudged Jordan’s ribs with her elbow.

“Go help Samuel with Killian and Feodor over there. Make yourself useful.” When the Whaler gave no sign of moving, Galia shoved him off the rock. “Go, idiot. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Jordan hesitated, looking her up and down, then nodded. “You’re freakishly strong for a someone so short,” he called back to her, rubbing his wrist from where he’d braced his fall. He sounded more like his usual, blithe self.

Galia restrained her sigh of relief. “At least I don't have hagfish eggs for brains,” she retorted instead. Galia shook her head at his retreating back. “Men,” she smirked. “Have to learn we’re not all delicate creatures.”

“The last thing I’d call you is a delicate creature.”

Galia narrowed her eyes at Akila. “I’ll ignore the insult you probably meant that as, and take it as a compliment instead. Sarcastic shit,” she muttered under her breath. Akila’s lips quirked upwards in the corner, almost hidden by his shaggy hair, but Galia caught it. “Thanks for patching me up. Your hands aren’t that clunky, by the way. I was just being mean.”

Akila shrugged her off, then nodded at Quinn when he saw him approaching.

“How’s the–”

“Im fine, Quinn. My wound is fine,” Galia snapped. “Will everyone stop checking up on me? I’m fine.”

Quinn held up his hands, “Just asking. Has she been such a bitch the whole time you’ve been working on her, ‘Kila?”

“Yes.”

Galia swatted him over the head. “Fuck you. I’m a delight.”

“I wholeheartedly disagree,” Akila answered, monotone. Galia swatted him again.

She glared back up at Quinn, but noticed his eyes fixed on the cliff face that was keeping them hidden. “I hope they got inside the Manor somehow,” the Whaler said softly. “Daud’s leg never got seen to after that hound got him. And Void knows where Corvo is.”

“They’ll be alright, wherever they are.” Galia couldn’t know that for sure. Everything had been a blur the last time she’d seen Daud; she remembered him carrying her to safety, then leaving her with Akila and Jordan. And she hadn’t seen Corvo since they’d split off to scout the gardens. “You know those two. They’ll be alright,” she repeated, trying to sound optimistic.

“I’m not Jordan,” Quinn scoffed, “You don’t have to force yourself to be so cheerful for my sake.” The Whaler took a seat next to her on the rocks. “I’m worried about them. Attano’s smart, but he gets rash when it comes to Daud. And vice versa.”

“I’d noticed,” Galia answered.

“If something’s happened...” Quinn trailed off uneasily.

Galia looked up the path towards the Manor. A lot was left unsure, but she was certain about one thing. “If something has happened, I think it’s the witches that need to be worrying. Not us.”

***

Tilda remembered her days at the Golden Cat. Miserable days, scrubbing floors and tabletops, serving fruit around on platters to guests, wearing skimpy rags and being paraded in front of rich and lonely old men. She didn’t miss the other girls there; Violetta and Loulia and all the others. She missed the clients even less.

Delilah had let her kill the patron she hated most. After her Mistress had found her in the ally behind the brothel, shivering and alone after a rough day’s work, she had helped Tilda find Sergeant Heyburn. She choked the life out of him. Tilda had been tempted to choose Lord Brisby, but the prattling old fool had never been unkind to her. Heyburn had been callous, and cruel, and he had gotten what he was owed. Thanks to Delilah. Thanks to their beloved Mistress.

Tilda swayed from her heels to her toes a few times, seesawing back and forth impatiently. She wondered whether to speak her mind. She and Evie were guarding their Mistress’ studio within the Manor, where the lantern was kept. Tilda felt privileged that their Lady trusted her so much; to ask her to safeguard something so important to their plans.

“The lantern will be ready when she calls,” Evie had explained.

Tilda hadn’t fully understood. “But I don’t think Delilah will return this way,” she had replied. “When she calls to us, it will be to Dunwall Tower.”

“Probably true,” Evie had admitted, smiling thinly. “Exciting to imagine, isn’t it.”

Tilda agreed ardently. She imagined the way they lived in the Tower was similar to Madame Prudence at the brothel. Soft furs, expensive food and wines, sparkling jewels and red carpets everywhere. Tilda could hardly believe it was happening at all. Delilah was truly a genius to have come up with such a scheme.

Tilda neatened the roses that kept her hair in place, and then let her gaze wander over their surroundings. Not that she was concerned at all, even after the earlier interference in the grounds outside. Aveline had come to them with news of Daud’s capture and his men’s defeat. No one could stand in their way now. But still, Tilda reasoned, she had a duty to her Mistress, and she made sure to keep a watchful eye on the room.

After a while, she began fidgeting again, unable to keep her thoughts to herself any longer. She peered sideways. “May I confess something to you, Evie?”

The older witch glanced at her with expectant, narrowed eyes.

“Promise not to tell the others.”

“Of course,” Evie answered. “You can always confide in me.”

“When I was in the studio before,” Tilda began timidly, “I painted the mark on my hand, just to see. It was foolish, I know,” she made sure to add. “But I couldn’t help myself.”

Evie placed a hand on her shoulder. “Never be ashamed of your ambition. It’s why she chose you.”

Tilda sighed and smiled in relief. “Thank you. I knew you’d understand how I felt. Your words are always exactly what I need, Evie. If only my sisters at the Golden Cat had been more like you,” she said wistfully.

“Do not think on them,” Evie instructed coldly. “We are your true sisters now.”

“I know.” Tilda let silence reign for a while, scanning the room again, before allowing herself to speak her mind. ”It pains me that I can’t be at Delilah’s side during the ritual,” she admitted. “She’s alone. What if something does go wrong? Who will help her?”

“You underestimate our great Lady’s resourcefulness,” Evie said, waving her concerns off with a dismissive gesture of one gloved hand. “She is not alone. Not entirely, at least.”

Tilda’s eyes widened. “The statues! Of course.”

“They’re more than statues. Do not fret, dear Tilda. She ensues her will into them. How do you think we caught those fool trespassers in the gardens earlier?” Evie turned to her fully, and this time placed both hands on Tilda’s shoulders. “Now, Lady Delilah needs you to be strong and steadfast. The lantern is the only way to open the painting, and we were trusted to keep it protected for her. This is no time to wilt like a summer daisy.”

“I won’t,” Tilda insisted firmly. “Forgive me, sister. You’re right.”

“Good." Evie seemed satisfied with her answer. "Nothing can stand between us and victory, so long as we remain strong, and faithful to our Lady.”

Evie began to remove her hands from Tilda’s shoulders, but suddenly jolted away, her head dropping back and her arms going slack by her sides.

Tilda tentatively reached for her. “Evie?”

When Evie opened her eyes again, they were black, as though her pupils had drowned out her irises. The witch drew her blade in one swift motion, and before Tilda could move, the sword had carved into her stomach.

“W-Wha– Evie–” Tilda sunk onto the floor when the sword was withdrawn; her legs buckling and her fingers warm and slippery as she clutched the wound. She curled into herself on the ground. “E-Evie–”

She gaped up at her sister, watching as Evie jolted again. A black shape appeared behind her, seeming to morph into being out of the witch herself, as though they had been the same person for a moment. Evie dropped her blade, and the stranger stabbed his own into the side of her neck. The warm droplets of blood splattered over Tilda’s face.

Evie’s limp, choking form dropped to the floorboards, and Tilda tried to crawl away, desperate as the stranger advanced on her. “P-Please– I’m not, I– I’m not one of them, please– Whatever y-you want, j-just don’t–” Her vision began to haze, her body weakening from the blood she’d lost. The stranger grasped her by her collar, hoisting her up and pressing his blade against her neck.

After her throat had been cut and she was left to die beside her sister, Tilda saw the stranger’s eyes as he stalked towards the studio. Merciless. Vengeful.

Delilah was going to die. That was Tilda’s final thought.


	2. Leap of Faith

Corvo balanced on the rafters that ran above the art studio. There were tripwires everywhere, so he knew he was in the right place. The lantern sat glowing amidst Delilah’s scrapped portraits of Emily Kaldwin.

He used dark vision to highlight the traps, deactivating them one by one, and then stepped down onto the studio floor. The lantern was singing softly, humming with energy. The magic it contained obvious in the sound, and even the sight. It emitted a strange pink shine, becoming brighter when Corvo touched it. His mark lit up at the proximity.

He took off his gloves and slipped the lantern into one of them to dim its light; he couldn’t have it attracting attention. He fastened it into one of the straps of his belt, then swiftly moved back down to the second floor of the Manor.

Daud’s life wasn’t all that hanged in the balance now. Emily would perish if Delilah succeeded, and Corvo said he would protect the girl. Everything he’d seen and heard in the last months finally came together.

_‘There are great changes coming, and I’ll expect him not to interfere. I have influences in places he won’t expect’_

_'And that the Abbey would be given more influence under her rule’_

_'I keep dreaming about her’_

_'I will never be cast aside again’_

Delilah planned to rule as Empress, through Emily. He should have put the pieces in place sooner.

Corvo crouched low when three witches appeared, and he glared. They were on his path. He had to get out of the West Wing, to the room where Delilah’s portrait to the Void was kept.

Their backs were turned to him as they patrolled the corridor. Corvo stepped behind the witch nearest, covering her mouth with one hand and piercing the bolt of his wristbow into her neck. He laid her on the ground quietly, and paced to the next. The furthest witch begin to turn around, and Corvo tossed a can of choke dust in her direction; it exploded and obscured the view, allowing him to cut the second woman’s throat, then blink in front of the last. The cloud of dust cleared just as he removed his blade from her chest.

This wasn’t like him, he was aware of that. Corvo had never taken pleasure in killing. But each time a witch was in his sight, his vision became red, and everything throbbed and pulsed and urged him to act. It should have scared him, how gratifying it felt to kill them.

But this was no moment to pay mind to the trail of bodies he’d left about the Manor. If something was in his way, he couldn’t waste time thinking of clever ways to bypass it.

Corvo found his way back to the foyer; to the moss covered chandeliers and worn furnishings. The state of the Manor made the Flooded District look like Dunwall Tower. Corvo moved along, passing through an old bedroom. The glowing flowers he’d seen in the gardens were growing on the bed, and black stalactites hung down from the ceiling. Corvo shunned around them, unwilling to risk touching anything.

When he exited the bedroom, a witch appeared around the corner. Corvo didn’t have time to draw his sword. He darted into a neighbouring corridor, briefly disturbed by the row of stuffed blood ox heads mounted along the walls; their eyes gleamed silver in the dimness. The more Corvo saw of this place, the less he liked. Before the witch caught sight of him, he took refuge in a side room, listening for her footsteps around the doorframe.

“Please... Don’t make me eat anymore...”

He peered over his shoulder. An Overseer was sprawled in a corner. The room was laid out similarly to Holger Square’s interrogation chamber; chains and a chair with cuffs. Corvo shivered.

“Brother Marcus..!” the Overseer suddenly cried out. Corvo blinked to him and clamped a hand over his mouth. The man still attempted to speak, the words vibrating against Corvo’s palm. “Don’t make me eat more...”

“Quiet,” Corvo snapped, checking over his shoulder at the door. He then discerned the numerous guts covering the floor. The remains of this Overseer’s comrade, Corvo guessed. They must have been caught trespassing. Were the witches were making him eat another person..? Barbaric. Corvo felt perhaps he was doing the world a service by killing them, after all.

Fleetingly distracted by the entrails, Corvo’s hand loosened and the Overseer practically screamed. “I denounce..! I denounce the Abbey!”

Corvo was too slow to quiet him again, and the cries echoed through the room, and no doubt into the corridor outside. Corvo pressed his wristbow between the Overseer’s eyes and triggered it, sending a bolt through his forehead. He instantly became silent. Corvo prayed that the man’s cries hadn’t been heard, when voices drifted from the corridor.

“We should check on him, Rosaline. I don’t like keeping him there like that.”

“I agree. It’s cruel, but Delilah insisted.” The pair of witches entered. “Now, now, Overseer Pradcliff. What’s this racket–”

They stopped in the doorway, and Corvo stared at them from across the room. Everything was momentarily still. Then the witches turned tail, and Corvo gave chase.

“It’s one of Daud’s!” the red-haired witch called to her companion in front. “Warn our sisters!”

Corvo tore after them down the corridor, marking his place between the pair as they ran. He blinked, pressing his blade against the red-haired witch’s neck. She made a strangled sound and held onto his arms, trying to struggle free.

Corvo tightened his grip, then aimed his wristbow towards the other witch, about to send a bolt into her leg to slow her. But she had already stopped. Gawping back at them both, wide-eyed. Horrified. Corvo frowned. The sight made him hesitate, and he didn’t shoot. This witch didn’t appear to be going anywhere.

“Rosaline!” She reached towards her companion, trembling. “Rosaline! Please–”

“Go, Alina–!” the red-haired witch choked out from beneath Corvo’s hold. “Get away from here–!”

Corvo deepened the blade, eliciting a stuttered breath from Rosaline, and a sob from Alina. Interesting.

“Please, please, don’t hurt her!”

Corvo saw the look in the woman’s eyes. No, he felt it more than saw it. He imagined it was the same look he’d gotten, each time he thought Daud to be in danger at the Feasts. Alarmed. Desperate. Willing to do anything to keep him from harm. A plan quickly began to form. Corvo could use this. Perhaps it was time to go about this more intelligently, after all.

“I won’t harm either of you,” he began calmly. “If you cooperate.”

Alina’s eyes, shining with frightened tears, looked her lover up and down, and then nodded. “Anything. Just, please, let her go.”

“Do as I ask,” Corvo said. “Then I let her go.”

Rosaline wasn’t daring to even swallow, with Corvo’s sword held so tightly to her throat.

Alina laid her blade at her feet in surrender. Corvo took Rosaline’s weapon from her belt and slot it into his own. He could easily see the way to the Portrait room, through the cracked floorboards of the second floor. The path was framed by an arch of thick, black vines.

He nudged his head in its direction, and addressed his new allies. “We’re going that way. You’re going to tell me about the lantern and Delilah’s ritual. And then you’re going to do a job for me.” Corvo narrowed his eyes at the witch, icily. “Understood?”

***

“Did you do this for Emily? Did you plan to stop me for her sake?”

Daud’s expression hardened, his breathing rough against the pressure of the vines pressing down on him. They were coiled around his arms, his chest, keeping him trapped in place; sat on the ground with his back against Delilah’s alter. The witch certainly possessed some wicked tricks. She summoned thorns as well as vines, and a few of them still jabbed into Daud’s shoulder from when he’d tried to thrash free.

“I don’t see why you bothered. You killed her mother in front of her,” Delilah continued to scorn, as she painted with erratic strokes across the canvas. “She’s not fit to lead the Empire.”

“And you are?” Daud grated out. “A demented witch is hardly a step up from a child.”

“Such sour words.” Delilah shot him a thin smile over her shoulder. “Are you still angry about Lurk? Such a shame she made the wrong choice in the end; sparing you. She held such promise.”

Daud refrained from biting out a retort. It wouldn’t get him anywhere at this point. He glared around the Void instead. Tiresome and mystical, as always. The tree towering above Emily’s portrait resembled those surrounding Brigmore Manor, only larger; high, twisting branches, and rich green leaves that stood out against the blue of the Void. Daud had expected to be killed as soon as he’d been dragged to Delilah, but she had trapped him here instead, in full view of Emily’s painting. Daud supposed the witch wanted him to witness her masterpiece, listen to her gloat while she finished her ritual; taking over Emily’s mind and becoming Empress. Daud presumed she planned to kill him some time afterwards.

He tried to shift into a different position, but only ended up forcing the thorns to jab deeper and the vines to coil tighter. He hissed, trying to focus on something other than the pain in his leg from his earlier injury. Daud had certainly underestimated Delilah’s powers. A thought struck him, making him suddenly nauseous .What if he had overestimated Corvo’s own abilities by sending him into the crypt alone. It was a rash decision, Daud admitted that much, but he had made his choice. He couldn’t have let Corvo be taken as well, and nothing else but that had mattered in the moment.

Daud had never cared about that before. He spent years sending that Whaler into troublesome situations, never losing sleep over his safety as long as the job got done and the client’s coin was collected. But now, he was starting to wonder if he had only sent Corvo into more peril by pushing him into the crypt. Daud couldn’t bear the thought.

“I hear you wallowing over there,” Delilah drawled, dipping her brush into the paint. “Care to share your thoughts? You’re not going anywhere, and I still need to add a few finishing touches. So we have plenty of time to chat.”

“I was just questioning whether all artists are narcissists,” he muttered gruffly.

“Perfectionists,” the witch bit back. “Something you could learn a thing or two about. What was your plan, precisely? Sneak into my home and past my sisters, then flounder about trying to stop me? Your existence seems to be an endless trail of poor decisions, Daud.”

Delilah added some warm brown paint to Emily’s irises, then began to stroke the brush through her hair, darkening the colour.

“Coming after me may have been your greatest failing of all. Did you really think you could stop me? My powers are far too great.” She stepped back a few paces to admire her work, then clearly saw something she wasn’t satisfied with. She returned her brush to the canvas. “I told your little crow as much, in Barrister Timsh’s apartment. I advised him to warn you not to interfere. I thought perhaps he would be smart enough to see sense. But he ended up being just as foolish as the rest of you.”

Corvo was anything but. He was fearless, and stubborn, and dangerously intelligent, and something in Daud snapped at the witch’s insult. “Don’t you dare speak of him like that.”

Delilah glanced around, and arched an eyebrow. “You still talk about him as if he’s alive–” She cut herself off, eyes narrowing in pleasure. “Oh, now this is precious. He _is_ alive, isn’t he? He managed to escape and return to you. I can see it in your eyes.” She placed her utensils on a small table beneath the portrait, and strode towards him. “Would you like to know what happened when the Overseers caught him outside Rudshore?”

Daud didn’t. Not at all. But the longer he kept Delilah talking, the longer it took for her ritual to begin. So he allowed the witch to continue, his eyes fixed on hers in an obstinate attempt to appear unaffected by her words.

Delilah gave a smirk, satisfied by his silence. “He begged Lurk and I for your life. Pleaded, on his knees, held down by Hume’s men like a dog. He never tried to save himself. Such a devoted young thing.”

The image she weaved would resurface each time he closed his eyes, Daud suspected. He wondered what the witch could see in his expression. Anger? Despair? The longing to know where Corvo was, if he had been captured by the witches too, if he was even still alive now?

Delilah’s pupil’s dilated slightly, in sudden recognition, and Daud realised too late what she must have seen in his face.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

He made the mistake of dropping his gaze, the dull pain beneath his ribs intensifying, and he heard Delilah’s chuckle above him.

“How quaint, that a knife could fall in love.” She gripped his chin, forcing their eyes to meet again. “How does it feel, Daud? To be ripped away from something meaningful to you? I know that feeling very well.” She released him harshly, and Daud felt the imprints of her sharp nails against his jaw. Delilah headed back to the portrait, “Jessamine Kaldwin took my life. And now her beloved daughter will help me reclaim what is rightfully mine.”

“The only thing rightfully yours is a bullet between the eyes.” Daud tried to move beneath the vines again. And again, they only curled tighter, near suffocating him. He growled his frustration, “And perhaps better tutoring in the way of art. Your style needs work.” He relished in the way Delilah’s shoulders tensed at the affront.

Delilah made a harsh sound in the back of her throat, resembling a snarl, and then appeared in front of him again, grasping his hair and yanking upwards until they were face to face. “You are a miserable fool! You have nothing more to threaten me with–”

“I... Lady Delilah?”

The witch’s head snapped up to the staircase that descended from the tree. Daud inspected the newcomer; a young witch, with black hair and green, vine-like veins trailing from her hands to her forearms.

Delilah bared her teeth in annoyance and stalked back towards Emily’s portrait. “What is the meaning of this interruption, Alina? I instructed everyone to keep guard around the Manor. I asked not to be disturbed.”

“For-Forgive me, my Lady,” Alina stuttered, wringing her hands nervously. “Rosaline sent me. There has been an intrusion.”

Daud saw something flash in Delilah’s eyes. He dared to believe it was fear. His own breaths became unsteady in anticipation. It must have been Corvo. He had been seen? He was never seen.

“An intrusion,” Delilah repeated. Her gaze turned coldly on Daud. “It would seem one of your men has gotten past my defences after all.” She beckoned Alina down to her, “Come here and explain yourself.”

Alina padded down the stairs and came to stand in front of her mistress, head bowed respectfully. Her gaze kept darting to Emily’s portrait, to Delilah’s utensils still laid on the table.

“Speak, Alina.”

The witch glanced between Daud and Delilah, skittish as she gave her news. “The intruder was after the lantern, my Lady. But Rosaline has brought it safely to the portrait room. I was told to use it to enter the painting, and inform you of what happened.”

“You are certain the lantern is secure?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Daud’s heart was pounding. Had Corvo gotten the lantern and then merely lost it? Or had they taken it from him? How could he have been seen, and where was he now? Was he safe? Had he been captured too?

“You made the correct decision to come to me, Alina.” Delilah cut off Daud’s frantic thoughts. She sounded relieved. “And what of the intruder?”

Daud couldn’t hide his desperation as he looked to the younger witch. Alina met his eyes, then dropped her gaze to the ground, and Daud knew her answer before she even opened her mouth.

“He’s been dealt with, my Lady. He won’t be bothering us again.”

 _Impossible,_ Daud’s thoughts denied every word. Corvo was skilled. He escaped the Overseers, so he could escape these people too. Corvo wouldn’t do this to him. He couldn’t. Any moment now, he would appear and prove them wrong. He always did. _Nothing could keep me from you_ , he had said. Corvo would never lie to him.

“Excellent. You and Rosaline will be duly rewarded for this, once I sit the throne.” Daud heard the smile in Delilah’s voice, and felt her eyes fixed on him as she spoke. “Well, Daud. It seems your plans have proven useless once again. Who was it that you managed to sneak into my Manor?”

At Daud’s silence, Delilah looked to her sister.

“Describe him. Let Daud know exactly which of his soldiers has died for him today.”

“I, uh–”

“Speak up, Alina. No mumbling now.”

“Uh, dark hair.”

Daud’s hands were beginning to tremble.

“Dark eyes.”

_No._

“He had scars. Burn scars along his jaw.”

_Please, no._

“And did you see him die, Alina?” Delilah’s voice was closer now, stood over him. Mocking him. She knew it was Corvo. “Did you watch the light leave the little crow’s eyes?”

“Rosaline killed him. She cut his throat. I saw it, Mistress.”

Daud sagged against the alter, letting his head fall against the cold marble. He heard Alina being praised and dismissed back to the Manor, but everything was dim, distant. Beneath the numbness, beneath the denial, a knowing pressure was beginning to build. The same he had felt after Jessamine’s murder. Corvo had weathered that feeling with him that night, had stayed with Daud all those months ago.

Rulfio had said Corvo would have done anything Daud asked of him. Follow him. Die for him.

Corvo hadn’t died for him. He had died _because_ of him. A choked sound escaped his lips, far too quiet to overhear, but it left his throat raw. For the first time since Jessamine’s death, he began to weep.

***

Corvo stood with his sword pressed against Rosaline’s back, his gaze firm on the portrait that led to the Void. He wondered if Daud was through there. Delilah could be keeping him alive. Perhaps it was childish to still hope, but Corvo couldn’t help himself.

“I don’t agree with what Delilah is doing, you know,” Rosaline spoke up. “I wish I’d never agreed to follow her. I never would have gotten Alina involved with any of this if I’d just refused.”

“If you think I want your thoughts on the matter, you’re mistaken,” Corvo said bitterly.

The portrait began to ripple, and Corvo manoeuvred the sword back against Rosaline’s throat. Alina stepped out.

“I did what you asked of me,” she said, voice shaking. “Now let her go.”

“You got the brush?”

“Yes,” Alina answered, holding out the paintbrush to show him. She looked at Rosaline, jaw trembling. “Has he hurt you, Rosie–”

“I’m not finished,” Corvo interrupted, glaring at the witch. “The ritual can’t be completed without the brush?”

“No, n-not without it. It’s made from locks of Emily’s hair. Delilah needed a physical piece of her to make the connection through the portrait.”

“And she didn’t see you take it?”

“I–”

“Delilah. She didn’t suspect you?”

“No,” Alina shook her head fervently. “No, she believed me. She sent me back here to guard the lantern. I told her it was safe, that everyone was still guarding it, and that I saw you killed. It was the only way I could keep her distracted. She doesn’t know you’re here, I– I promise.”

Corvo took a breath, glare deepening as he asked his final question. “Is Daud alive?”

Alina nodded. “Yes.”

Corvo closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment. Delilah _was_ keeping Daud alive. Corvo would see him again.

“You said y-you wouldn’t harm her if I followed your instructions,” Alina said, tears beginning to stain her cheeks. “Now, p-please let her go.”

“The brush first.” Corvo held out his free hand for it, and caught it when Alina carefully threw it over.

He released Rosaline, shoving her towards her lover. The two embraced, and Corvo tried to quell the resentment that overcame in him at the sight. They didn’t deserve to have one another in their arms, not when Corvo had been through all this, not when he had believed Daud to be dead. It wasn’t fair.

“You’re both free to go. Take it as payment for your help,” he said quietly. “Don’t mistake it as mercy. If either of you return here, I’ll kill you.”

Rosaline nodded her understanding, her arms wrapped around Alina; shielding the witch’s dainty frame from him. She tugged her towards the upper level, both of them disappearing from the Portrait room. Corvo watched them leave, reassured when their footsteps eventually faded. They wouldn’t come back.

He snapped the paintbrush in half. Unless Delilah had an extra trinket of Emily’s on hand, the painting couldn’t be finished. Corvo nodded to himself. Knowing Daud was alive, his mind had started to clear, and he felt more like himself once again. He’d made the right decision, letting Alina and Rosaline live. And now Delilah had been lured into a false sense of security, as the witch had done to Daud and the men in the gardens. An eye for an eye. The final part of the plan was to be rid of her.

Corvo stepped in front of the portrait. The lantern’s energy was stronger here, and the chandelier and old banners above him shook from its force. He stepped through the painting as he’d seen Alina do. A sharp brightness robbed him of his vision for a few moments.

When he blinked and his sight returned, the Outsider stood before him. Everything around them had frozen in the deity’s presence.

**“Dear Corvo. What an interesting turn of events.”**

“I don’t have time for you,” Corvo said briskly. “Whatever you have to say, make it quick.”

The Outsider chuckled, and the sound resonated around the room. **“In such a hurry to see him safe. And Emily, too. Why does the girl’s life mean so much to you. Does she remind you of your sister, I wonder. Of the life you couldn’t save all those years ago.”**

“I don’t have time for this,” Corvo repeated.

 **“All of time is meaningless here.”** The Outsider spread his arms, motioning to the frozen room; half way between the Void and the real world. **“We could talk for centuries, and nothing outside our conversation would age a second. We have plenty of time.”**

Corvo sighed through his nose, trying to level his impatience. The Outsider was clearly not letting him progress without some kind of contribution on his part. “Tell me, then. Why did you mark Delilah?”

**“Why do I mark any of you? She gained my attention.”**

“Because she wants to become Empress?”

**“Because she has ambition, and will stop at nothing to pursue it. I find that fascinating to behold.”**

“She’s hurting people.”

 **“Corvo.”** The Outsider leaned forward, regarding him curiously. **“Why should that matter to me?”**

Corvo supposed he had a point. Whatever the Outsider was, angel, devil, something else entirely, he wasn’t human. Corvo wasn’t sure he wanted to know what he was. “Why did you give Daud her name?”

**“Daud wanted redemption. I merely put him on the path that offered him as such. I was curious what would happen. I’ve rarely seen my chosen few engage in such close means before. You. Daud. Delilah.”**

“You pit us against each other just because you wanted to see what would happen.”

**“Indeed. And your duel has been anything but a disappointment.”**

It made Corvo angry, but Daud had warned him how the Outsider worked; he let things fall to pieces, and relished in the world gone mad. Corvo knew arguing, or pointing out how sadistic it was, would get him nowhere. It was likely that the Outsider couldn’t even comprehend it was wrong. Maybe he had no concept of right and wrong at all. Again, Corvo reminded himself, the being wasn’t human.

“Do you even care who succeeds?”

 **“No.”** The Outsider looked off somewhere far away, expression blank. **“I give my mark sparingly, and I don’t play favourites.”** Corvo remained unmoving, wary, as cool fingers came to graze along his jaw. **"But I must admit, your story is one I have become extremely intimate with.”**

Corvo felt himself swallow. “Do you know what will happen when I face Delilah?”

 **“I cannot predict the future, dear Corvo.”** His grip tightened, and Corvo’s chin was pulled gently upwards to meet the Outsider’s black eyes. **“I can only observe. And I will watch this. With unusual attention.”**

Corvo was suddenly alone, and the room began moving; a strong wind pulled everything towards the bright and fractured hole in the floor. The entrance to Delilah’s ritual site. Corvo stood at the edge. He was terrified. But it was up to him now. No one else was coming to help him; not the men, not Daud.

Corvo steeled himself, clutching his blade tightly to steady his hands, and then dropped down into the Void.

***

Delilah was cursing harshly under her breath as she searched for the paintbrush. Daud could hear her flurrying around the canvas, around the alter, even around the surrounding islands orbiting theirs.

She returned to her collection of paints in a huff, hunting around there for what must have been the dozenth time. “Where is it,” she hissed.

Daud kept his head bowed, jaw clenched. Every sound the witch made caused his stomach to reel, and rage to twist in his gut. He couldn’t imagine what the sight of her would do to him. He wanted to tear her apart; all that was stopping him were the vines and his wounded leg.

“A few more strokes, and the painting is done. Where could that brush have gone now, of all times?!”

“Perhaps it grew legs and ran from you,” Daud said, the words rough and struggling to form. “I don’t blame it.”

“You are in no position to mock me.” Delilah’s voice dripped with frustration. She crouched down and began to search around the edge of the canvas. “Mock me again, and I’ll kill you here after all.”

“So kill me.” Daud heard his own hatred in the words, but there was no strength behind it. He was done. “What does my life matter now.”

“Did your life ever truly matter, Daud? Did your little crow’s? Pity about him.” Delilah straightened back up, upper lip curling as she scanned the grass for the paintbrush. “What was his name? Lurk mentioned it now and again, but I don’t think I took enough notice to remember it.”

Something in his chest lurched. A cruel, vicious tug that left him breathless. “You don’t have the right to know his name.”

“Hmph,” Delilah sneered, clearly delighting in his anguish. “I suppose I don’t need to know it. None of this will be going in the history books. No one will remember him, or even the great Knife of Dunwall, when this is over.”

“Someone will be rid of you,” Daud rasped. “Not me, not my men, but someone will. You won’t be able to hold the throne. Your arrogance will be your ruin.”

Daud knew that would hit a nerve, but he was far past the point of fearing for his own safety. She began to storm back towards him. The sight of her made him sick.

“Fool! How dare you deride me! I have gotten here through the force of my own genius–”

A blue flash appeared behind her, and with it, a blade tearing through her stomach. Delilah stiffened, her eyes growing wide and her mouth hanging open, gaping wordlessly.

Corvo twisted the sword, voice sharp over the witch’s shoulder. “Your genius couldn’t keep me from reaching you. It won’t save you now.”


	3. Return

Corvo let himself mistakenly believe, just for a second, that it would be enough. A sword through the gut, no more needed. Naive thinking, and he staggered when Delilah disappeared. His blade was left soaked with blood and nothing to show for it.

The witch re-emerged in front of Emily’s portrait. Corvo stood his ground at the alter, guarding Daud just as Delilah guarded her masterwork. They both had something to protect.

“You...” The witch's upper lip curled in loathing. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“You were misinformed.”

“Insolent creature,” Delilah sneered. “If you came to save him,” she jerked her head Daud’s way, “or Emily, you’re too late. My ritual is almost complete.” Her hand was pressed over the gash Corvo’s sword carved through her stomach. “You think something as petty as an assassin’s blade can stop me?”

“I’ve already stopped you.”

Delilah’s eyes widened in understanding. Her knuckles whitened as she grasped her weapon, seething. “Alina, that sneaky wretch! She took the brush. You convinced her to betray me.”

“It wasn’t difficult.” Corvo tightened the grip on his own weapon to stop his hands trembling. He wouldn’t lose his nerve now. “Your people aren’t fond of you.”

“Have you slain them all, little crow? Who else have your victims been? Frail old aristocrats and drunken boys on Watch duty? None like me. Your master should have taught you not to anger a witch.” Delilah curled her left hand into a fist, her mark lighting up. “I’ll kill you!”

Before she could summon her power, Corvo blinked, running his sword through her ribs and causing her to disappear once again.

A thick vine shot up from the ground where she’d previously stood, whipping towards Corvo and coiling around his arm. It tried to drag him downwards, forcing him to one knee as he thrashed in its grip. Corvo flicked his wrist, interchanging a steel bolt for an incendiary in his wristbow, and he fired at the base of the vine. The blast made it recoil into the ground, and Corvo reeled free.

He saw Delilah on his right, and her mark flared, thorns flying towards him. Corvo summoned windblast, and the tempest deflected most of them, sending them shooting back towards the witch. But a few managed to pierce his arm, and one grazed his cheek, cutting the skin under his eye.

“You cannot possibly know what I paid for this! I was a serving girl, and I _will be Empress!_ You will not stop me!” Delilah appeared before him and drove her sword downwards. Corvo dodged to the side, managing to block her next swing with his blade and counter it, forcing Delilah off balance.

Another summoned vine snapped up and reclaimed Corvo’s arm, making him to lose his handle on the sword. It clattered to the ground.

Delilah advanced, expression wild. Triumphant. “You put up quite a fight, little crow,” she hissed. “But there is nowhere left for you to run. No one has enough power to defeat–”

Corvo lashed out and punched her across the jaw, knocking her away. He noticed, at the alter, the vines confining Daud were starting to weaken; Delilah’s power was concentrated on Corvo, and Daud was struggling to release himself.

Corvo continued to struggle and pull free from the vine’s clutches. But he was trapped, and he couldn’t reach Rosaline’s sword, which was still slotted in his belt.

Delilah snarled across at him, blood dripping from her split lip. She came towards him again, her sword raised. “You should have forgotten my name the day you heard it!”

Corvo heard his fallen blade being retrieved, and Daud appeared in front of him, slicing the sword across Delilah’s throat. The witch disappeared once again, re-materialising at Emily’s portrait.

Daud had managed to get free, and the moment he’d struck Delilah, the vine holding Corvo shrunk into the grass. Daud’s leg was still a mess; mangled bone and torn muscle, and it had to be unbearable to put weight on. But he gave no sign of the pain he must have been in.

Delilah cowered against the painting, helpless and wide-eyed as she regarded the pair. With his blade now in Daud’s possession, Corvo drew Rosaline’s, and then joined Daud’s side, both of them closing in on the witch.

“No. You can’t do this!” Delilah pleaded, trying to slink further away. But she had nowhere to go. Her power was expended. “She took... my life...”

“You’ve lived in these bones long enough,” Daud growled, moving in to drag her closer.

As they neared, Delilah suddenly lunged for Corvo. Daud shoved him back and Corvo fell to the grass, out of her reach. Daud plunged his blade into Delilah’s stomach, but she clutched the handle, dragging the weapon deeper until the hilt of the sword was buried, and pulling Daud closer. She clawed his face until Daud caught her wrist, and he withdrew the blade in one swift motion, trying to back away.

Corvo got to his feet as Delilah made to attack again. He thrust Rosaline’s sword into her mouth, the end sticking through back of her head, and the witch became slack. When he pulled the blade free, Delilah choked a few times, twitching where she stood, before dropping, defeated, onto the ground.

Corvo’s hand remained on his weapon. He breathed heavily and waited for Delilah to revive; perhaps disappear and take them by surprise. Nothing happened. The witch’s body stayed where it was, and made no sign of moving again. Corvo let the sword fall from his fingers; stiff and aching from how tight he’d held the weapon. He heard Daud throw his own sword down, both of them keeping a wary eye on Delilah’s form. After a few more moments of waiting, when it was clear the fight had ended, Corvo decided she had to be dead. It was over.

“You’re alright.” The voice was low, rough from the battle. When Corvo felt a hand touch his arm, a sudden fire ran through him. “Outsider’s eyes, I thought–”

“Don’t touch me!” Corvo smacked the hand away. His breaths came quickly and unevenly as he glared at Daud.

Daud looked almost beside himself. Corvo didn’t care. He couldn’t. Not when Daud had pushed him down in that crypt, leaving him shaking and grieving with only rats to keep him company. “Corvo, I–”

“You pushed me. You pushed me in the crypt and left me." Corvo felt himself snarl. "Do you know what that did to me?!”

“I’m sorry–”

“Bullshit!” Corvo spat. He backed off when Daud tried to draw near. He didn’t want to touch him. He didn’t even want to look at him. “I was alone, and I didn’t know where you were, if you were going to be killed. You don’t get to make that fucking decision! You don’t get to die to protect me, you selfish, fucking–”

“But you get to die, to protect me? Is that it?”

“Yes!” Corvo answered, exasperated. He always thought that was obvious. “Of course I do, that’s how it is! You don’t get to throw yourself away– you don’t get to do that.”

Daud tried to come towards him again, reaching out his hands cautiously. “Corvo–”

Corvo backed away further. “No! You don’t make those decisions- you don’t take people off the street, and give them a home, and make them care about you, and then let yourself die!“

He knew he was making no sense, and he hated the way his voice started to tremor, but he was still _so angry_.

“You’re important. They need you, and you– you pushed me down there and _left_ me!” His eyes started to burn, his vision blurring. “How could you do that, how could you just  _leave me_ –”

The last few words broke into a sob, and he was suddenly cloaked in Daud’s arms, gripping his shirt and pressing his face into his shoulder. It must have been agonising, for Daud to keep them both upright with his injured leg, but Corvo couldn’t have supported himself. He was shaking uncontrollably. Daud’s hands grasped him; one fisted in his hair, the other clutched at his back, crushing Corvo to him.

“I thought you were gone.” Corvo could feel the coarseness of Daud’s voice against his hair, and the words were muffled; desperate and despairing and thankful all at once. “I thought they’d taken you from me.”

 _So did I, you stupid prick_ , Corvo wanted to bite out, but he couldn’t. He was exhausted, his anger was spent. His forehead pressed against Daud’s chest, and he could feel his pulse; elevated from the fight, or maybe from this. Corvo didn’t know and he didn’t care. He could feel it. Nothing else mattered.

“I won’t forgive you,” he said quietly. The words were drained, but still held an ounce of venom because Corvo meant them. He truly meant them. Daud had been dead as far as he knew. Nothing could make up for that. “It doesn’t matter what you say. I won’t forgive you.”

Daud’s only answer was to hold him tighter, and Corvo didn’t move until he’d lost track of time. _All of time is meaningless here_ , the Outsider’s words resurfaced in his head. They could have been stood there for hours, and Corvo probably wouldn’t have known.

Eventually, Daud pressed a kiss to his head, his mouth lingering there as he spoke. “Let’s go home.”

Corvo pulled back, only slightly; Daud’s arms didn’t allow him far. His looked at Emily’s portrait, at the swirling colours and strange shapes scrawled over the canvas. Corvo nudged his nose against Daud’s chin, gently prying himself from his grasp, and then he retrieved one of the swords from the ground.

He approached the painting, embedding the blade into it and slicing downwards, tearing Emily’s rendering in half. Whatever magic Delilah had sealed inside was broken.

Corvo stepped over Delilah’s body, and returned to Daud. “Now we can go.”

***

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Stride offered Corvo her hand, pulling him onto the Undine. “We were beginning to worry.”

She whistled for her crew to help the rest of them on board. The Whalers they’d left behind on the ship rushed to greet them first, and Corvo made out Montgomery among the crowd.

“Mont.” He waved him over, and caught the Whaler giving him the once over for injuries. “I’m fine,” he said, although he suspected he looked anything but. He could still feel one or two thorns sticking out of his arm. “See what you can do for him,” Corvo jerked his head towards Daud, kept steady on his injured leg by Thomas and Samuel.

“Bring him below deck.” Montgomery led them swiftly towards the Undine’s cabins.

“Use mine,” Stride called after them. “It’s bigger, you’ll have more room to work.” She turned to Corvo and folded her arms, inspecting his dishevelled appearance. “Do I wanna know what happened?”

Corvo gave a brief shake of his head, then helped the rest of the Whalers up from the riverboats. Galia stumbled against him, and Corvo managed to grab her before she took them both down.

“Sorry.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, think so, just lost my balance. Stupid witches went for my right side,” she said crossly. “I put all my fucking weight on that side.”

Corvo dragged Galia’s arm around his shoulder, and helped her sit on the steps to the upper deck. Jordan sat beside her, pulling her gently to lean against him. Galia heaved a sigh, letting herself relax as her group came to join them.

“How you doin’, princess?”

Galia glared at Arden. “I have asked you to stop calling me that for four years.”

“Just because she’s Tyvian, it don’t make her a princess,” Jenkins pointed out.

Arden held his hands up, grinning and then lighting a cigarette. Jenkins swiped one, and Quinn too when he came to join them.

He nudged Corvo’s arm. “Stride says we’re about to ship out. Shouldn't you check in with Mont or Akila?”

“Mont's with Daud. I can wait.” Corvo took a drag of Quinn’s cigarette anyway. It relieved some of the tension in his muscles. “How long were you waiting at the shore?”

“Few hours. We started to think the worst,” Quinn said. “But you’re back now. And you got rid of that bitch, right?”

“Yeah.”

“There you go, then. It was worth the wait.”

And it must have been quite a wait; Corvo noticed it was getting dark. The Undine’s engine began to drone, and the ship moved away from Brigmore. Corvo watched the Manor and surrounding cliffs disappear into the mist.

“Good fuckin’ riddance,” Arden said around his cigarette, following Corvo’s gaze. “Whatever happened in there, you and the boss did good today, Attano.”

“Yeah,” Galia said, giving him a smile.

“Don’t think we’d be heading home if not for you,” Jordan said.

“For sure,” Jenkins agreed.

Feodor clamped a hand down on Corvo’s shoulder. “We’re proud of you. Really.”

Corvo tried not to squirm under the attention. He looked off to the side awkwardly, but he _was_ touched. He was never good at acknowledging it.

He was relieved when Quinn chuckled, saving him. The Whaler could usually tell when he was uncomfortable. “Alright, you lot. Quit embarrassing the man.” He shot Corvo a grin, “I can see you want to be alone for a while, you moody bastard. Go on. We’ll catch up when we get back to Rudshore.”

“Thanks.”

Arden fished through his pocket and chucked an expensive looking cigarette packet Corvo’s way. “Was meanin’ to give you that, if we survived Brigmore. I know you like the brand.”

Corvo examined it. From Serkonos. These were rare in Dunwall. He suddenly felt a lump in his throat. “You sure?”

“‘Course. Outsider’s arse, you deserve them. And we’re makin’ sure you join us to celebrate at some point,” Arden warned. “So you better get your broodin’ done with.”

Corvo touched his arm as he passed, just lightly in thanks, and Arden shoved him away, smiling. Corvo left his group talking by the steps, avoiding the Eel members’ commotion and moving a distance away to the rear of the ship. He leant against the metal railings there, looking out at the way they’d come. He was glad to be off the Brigmore grounds. The air felt clearer on Wrenhaven; no mist or eerie atmosphere. No witches either. Corvo closed his eyes, letting the river’s breeze wash over him. The peace was welcome, after the chaos they’d been through that day. For the last six months.

He felt someone lean beside him. “You look like shit.”

“I feel worse than shit, so what a relief.”

Stride sniggered, pushing his arm. “Dunwall’d be losing a smart mouth if you hadn’t come back. Glad you didn’t die, pretty boy. At least I get something nice to look at on the journey home. Athough,” she began slyly, “that Tyvian girl over there has the one up on you.”

“Galia’s engaged.”

“Shit.”

“To a man.”

“Fucking shit. Ah well,” Stride sighed. “Plenty more fish in the river, right? What about her?” She pointed Leonid’s way.

Corvo almost smiled, thinking it must have been a joke, before remembering that Stride didn’t know these Whalers as well as he did. “Leonid doesn’t do that. At all. Don’t even try.”

Stride held up her hands, obviously catching on to Corvo’s protective tone. “Alright, alright. Point made and received.” She gave the ship one last scan, deflating. “No more women apart from my own crew. Damn it.”

“What’s wrong with fucking your crew?”

“I’m not Daud,” Lizzy bared her fangs at him.

“Funny.”

“Seriously, though. Once someone who works for you sees you bent over a desk or worse, there goes their respect for you. Gotta maintain some kind of professionalism. Guess it’s different for pirates than it is for assassins, huh.”

Corvo supposed he had to agree. Respect wise, nothing had changed between Daud and himself. Not in a negative way, at least.

“So, is Galia engaged for real? Or is it more of a, ‘I’m getting married to this guy, but I’d still fuck a pirate Captain,’ kind of deal?”

“For real.”

“Damn.” Stride glanced at him sidelong. “You couldn’t have brought back a witch or two for me? After all I’ve done for you lot?”

Corvo knew it was in jest, but he’d had enough of witches to last him years, if not a lifetime. He didn’t answer, instead pushing off the railings and heading below deck. “Gonna check on Daud.”

“Give him a get well soon kiss from me!”

He shook his head, feeling his fondness for the Captain grow a little more. He’d be disappointed when they finally docked and had to part ways with the Eels.

Corvo entered Stride’s cabin just as Daud hissed, Montgomery tugging the gauze through the skin of his leg.

Corvo glared, closing the door behind him with more force than needed. “Be careful.”

“Not my fist time stitching someone up, Attano.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Corvo moved to perch on a stack of crates near the bed. Cross-legged, he was close enough for his knee to rest on Daud’s shoulder, as the man sat against the bed frame.

“How are you feeling, sir,” Samuel asked, sat contently on a chair by Stride’s desk.

“Fine.” Corvo wasn’t. He felt ready to pass out.

“My ass, fine,” Montgomery muttered, starting on another stitch, causing Daud to grit his teeth. “I’m giving you a look over, too, before we get back.”

“I’m fine,” Corvo repeated stubbornly. He pushed Daud with his knee gently, “Fix him. Don’t waste stitches on me.”

“I wouldn’t have had to waste _breath_ on you for ten years, if Daud hadn’t taken you in.” There was no bite to Montgomery’s words. Only a hint of teasing in his usual composed tone. “Imagine the peace and quiet my infirmary would get then.”

“I haven’t been brought there in years,” Corvo argued.

“You do recall your return from Holger Square?”

Corvo tensed, and felt Daud do the same. The man may have shifted closer to him along the bed, but Corvo couldn’t be sure; he was so exhausted, he may have been seeing things.

“Apart from then,” he muttered.

Montgomery scoffed, motioning for the bandages beside him. Corvo chucked them over. “You and Quinn used to get into more trouble than Arden. I remember,” the Whaler began as he wrapped the bindings over Daud’s closed wound. “The day you got out of training, the pair of you ended up with five broken bones between you, and enough scrapes to put the infirmary out of stock for a week.”

Samuel chuckled from his seat.

Corvo felt his cheeks heat up. “We were kids.”

“You were a pain. You still are, Quinn too.” Montgomery glanced towards Samuel, “Did you know, those two thought it would be a good idea to go after Slackjaw on their own? The second they’re given free reign, out they went on their little adventure to the Distillery District, confident they’d be the ones to finally catch him.”

Corvo chewed on the inside of his mouth. He hated this story.

“The geniuses almost started a gang war.”

Daud grunted. “Don’t remind me."

“And did they even catch a glimpse of Slackjaw? Of course not.” Montgomery began to bind an extra layer of bandages. “Pretty sure they weren’t allowed out of Rudshore for a while after that.”

“Four months,” Daud said bitterly, and Corvo knew his scowl was on him. He doggedly avoided it.

“How old were you?” Samuel asked.

Corvo felt the heat spread to his ears. “Seventeen.”

“Quinn was sixteen. Pair of jackasses, the both of them,” Montgomery added. He sealed the dressings, then inspected his work on Daud’s leg. “That’ll do. With your mark, it should heal in a few days. I’m impressed you were able to walk on it at all. That hound got you good.”

“I’m aware,” Daud replied sourly. He also grumbled a thank you, which Montgomery waved off, saying something or other about it being his job. Corvo didn’t hear. His eyelids kept closing of their own accord.

The talking around him became hazy, and he started to lose his balance on the crates, swaying to the side. He jolted back to consciousness when he heard Samuel’s chair scrape against the floor.

The boatman managed to steady him before he fell. “Easy there, Corvo.”

“Outsider’s eyes,” Montgomery sighed, exasperated. “Get some rest. You’re dead on your feet.”

“‘m fine,” Corvo mumbled, but his body swore otherwise. He could barely stand on his own.

“Get. Some. Rest,” Montgomery repeated slowly. “Stride won’t mind you taking another cabin.”

“He stays with me,” Daud cut in.

“You need to recover too. You should be left alone–”

Daud gave a growl. “He stays with me.”

“Void, fine,” Montgomery relented, throwing up his arms in defeat. “On your head be it. I’ve done what I can.”

“And I appreciate it.”

“You’d better,” he retorted to Daud, but again, there was no malice to the words. “I remember when I found you, too. Bleeding out in that alleyway at Slaughterhouse Row. I could’ve left you for the dogs, but I’ve done nothing but tolerate you since we met.”

Corvo had never found out exactly how Daud recruited Montgomery. He made a note to ask more another time, when he wasn’t drifting in and out of consciousness.

While the two Whalers bickered, Samuel leant Corvo against the crates, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. “You going to be alright, sir?”

“I’ve survived worse.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Samuel granted him a small smile, then bowed his head slightly. “I won’t be far if you need anything. I’ll probably go and find Quinn, see if I can help around the ship.”

Corvo watched the boatman leave, chest strangely heavy. It had always taken him a long time to warm to strangers, years sometimes, but Samuel had proven to be an exception. Corvo wondered whether the boatman would join them for good if he asked. He wasn’t ready to see the back of him yet.

“Don’t try to walk around. It’ll strain your injury,” Montgomery told Daud. “If you want it to heal faster, you’ll remain in that bed until we dock at Draper’s Ward.”

“Are you my mother,” Daud said dryly.

The Whaler ignored him, standing from the bed and heading for the door. “Keep an eye on him, and get some rest yourself,” he instructed Corvo, before leaving them alone.

“Man’s worse than Rulfio. I never realised,” Daud muttered, shifting until he was lay down properly.

“No one’s worse than Rulfio.” Corvo climbed on the bed, into Daud’s awaiting arms, and he let his head relax against the man’s freshly changed shirt. It didn’t smell like Daud’s, so it can’t have been his. He wondered vaguely why Stride would have a man’s shirt in her cabin.

Corvo shifted his legs between Daud’s, wary to keep the man’s wound in mind. He felt fingers start to stroke through his hair, pulling the tangles loose.

“What happened to Thomas?”

“I sent him to help Stride’s people above deck.”

“His fussing was irritating you. I noticed.”

He felt Daud smile against him. “You know everything irritates me.”

“Me, in particular.” Corvo knew would have missed this most, the talking, the comfort and security Daud’s presence always provided him. If either of them had died today–

He broke that line of thought off. There was no cause to dwell on the ifs, of what could have happened. Daud was safe. And Emily was safe, from Delilah at least. Corvo had done what he set out to do from the beginning.

Daud’s thumb brushed some hair away from his jaw, then stayed to trace the sharp line. Being so close now, Corvo felt rather more awake. “We’re resting. _Just_ resting.”

“Agreed,” Daud answered.

Seconds later, shivers were prickling along his skin. Corvo’s head was foggy from exhaustion, but he focused on the heat of Daud’s mouth at the base of his neck. Teeth scraping, tongue sliding over him.

Corvo pushed Daud’s shirt off his shoulders, raking his fingertips over his back. He could feel the tension clenching in his shoulder blades as the man moved against him. “We probably shouldn’t. Your leg.”

“To the Void with my leg,” Daud rumbled, and Corvo would have retorted; something droll or biting, but the sensations Daud’s mouth was making chased off any smarts he had. Daud let out a ragged breath, slowing his attentions long enough to look at him with unadorned longing on his face. “I almost lost you today. I thought I had. Why did I have to love you.” Daud dropped his forehead against Corvo’s collarbone. “Why you, of all people. Danger’s drawn to you. I know I’ll lose you one day, and I won’t be able to survive it again–”

Corvo’s hands carded through his hair, pulling him into a kiss and tugging at his lower lip. “Nothing could keep me from you,” he assured.

Daud deepened the kiss, demanding and pleading all at once. Corvo’s hand reached low to palm the hardness through Daud’s trousers. With a pull of Corvo's hair, Daud exposed the flesh of his neck and bit down, making Corvo arch his back off the mattress. Through the haze of lust, Corvo tugged at the trousers covering the man, shoving them down as far as he could. Daud’s skin was hot beneath his palms as Corvo took hold and stroked him to fullness. With a low grunt, Daud's eyes shut, his head falling forward, his breath coming out in slow pants.

"Corvo…" The sound of Daud groaning his name had Corvo tightening his legs around the man’s hips and grinding harder. Daud pulled the clothing around his knees away and pressed Corvo against the bed, hands pushing down, bruising on his hips. Dominant. Possessive. Daud rid him of his own clothes, then captured his mouth in another kiss, rough and leaving Corvo delirious. Soon Daud began to move down his body with long swipes of his tongue and rough snags of his teeth; ruptures of dizzying pleasure laced with thin tinges of pain.

Corvo wasn’t aware of the breathy moans and curses seeping from his own mouth. "Fuck, yes, _Daud... fuck..._ " Corvo felt drunk, his muscles taut like the gears of his wristbow.

Heat spread as Daud's mouth closed around him, tongue circling the head and then moving lower. He paused. Suddenly. Insufferably. Corvo had to work not to snarl.

“What?”

Daud grunted. “We don’t have anything.”

Corvo realised too, they had no oil. He nudged Daud’s head with his knee, “It’s fine, just come on.”

Daud’s voice was strained. “I don’t want to hurt you–”

“I don’t care.” Corvo grasped the man’s hair. _“Please.”_

Daud pressed a kiss to his hipbone, teeth pulling the skin sharply, then he lowered again. Corvo’s words were gone, replaced by one keening moan after another as Daud's tongue slipped over him, into him, trying to do the best he could with only his mouth. A saliva-coated finger pushed inside, and another shortly after, and Corvo continued to be dazed by both pleasure and pain alike. And it did hurt; he wouldn’t deny it. Daud’s fingers stretched him, the friction searing. But it was a grounding pain, only fuelling his need. Corvo could feel himself cresting.

_“Daud–”_

The man drew back, mouth and fingers pulling away. Gently, Corvo was turned onto his stomach. Then Daud was on him again, hands and mouth roaming, teeth biting down and sucking a bruise onto one firm cheek. A finger pressed into him again, the slide smooth and painless this time. The movement was followed by a slow drag of Daud’s free hand through Corvo’s hair. Another finger, stretching him deliciously and making Corvo gasp.

“Are you close?”

“N-No, just– I need–”

Daud hummed, leaning to nuzzle the tattoos at the back of Corvo’s neck. He continued his teasing, pressing deep kisses down the line of Corvo’s spine. “Three fingers, first. If you’re insisting we do it like this.”

“I don’t hear you, _ah–_ complaining–”

Daud’s chuckle vibrated along Corvo’s lower back. Corvo raised his hips up further, impatient, demanding.

“Stubborn,” Daud sighed, the word punctuated by a rough thrust of his fingers, and then he tugged his hand away.

Corvo shuddered at the empty feeling, and peered over his shoulder. His eyes blazed a path from Daud’s face to his cock, which throbbed beneath his gaze. He felt his skin tingle when he noticed Daud’s attention grazing over him in much the same manner.

Corvo reached for him and drew him forward for a kiss. Then Daud came to kneel over him, drawing Corvo up onto his hands and knees, before his chest pressed against his back. "Sure you’re alright?"

“Yeah. Come on.”

With a slow, almost tentative thrust, Daud began to push into him. Corvo scrunched his eyes shut, a stuttered sound leaving him. He bit into his own arm, trying to concentrate on the pain there instead.

Daud noticed his discomfort at once, and began to pull away. “Corvo, this isn’t–”

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” Corvo snapped, jaw canted stubbornly as he shoved back against Daud’s hips. The pain left him lightheaded, but he repeated the motion to make his point. “I can take it.”

Daud hesitated, but then pushed further into him until their hips were flush. He stayed unmoving for a while, aside from the small tremors they both made, to give Corvo time to adjust.

Eventually, Corvo gave a stiff nod. “Okay.”

Daud ground against him in small circles. Corvo cried out and buried his face into the mattress, his shoulders pulled tight. He felt Daud press his lips to his shoulder blade, then nip at the skin.

Corvo’s muscles began to loosen quickly, and his grip on the sheets became needier. He pushed himself further onto his hands, beginning to counter-thrust against Daud’s. “Harder–” the word escaped him, his nerves on fire. He needed this, needed Daud to touch him, fuck him, enjoy him in every way he could; make him feel worthy and whole and _wanted._

Daud placed a hand on his lower back, and pushed.

“Oh, _fuck–”_ Corvo gasped. Daud leaned hard, pressing him into the bed. Corvo arched his back and Daud pushed his other hand between his shoulder blades. “Fuck, _yes–_ that’s it–”

A series of breathless curses slipped from Daud’s own mouth. Corvo could feel him using their angle to his advantage; driving into him deeper, hands pushing him down with every hard brunt of his hips. Corvo’s fingers now clawed at the mattress. Daud loomed over him and gripped his hands, his mouth by Corvo’s ear, pace unrelenting. The force of their bodies pushed Corvo forward until he had to steady himself against the bed frame.

Daud hit a spot inside him that made his body seize. "There _–!_ Oh, fuck–"

He kept the angle steady."Like this?"

 _"Ah–_ fuck, _yes–"_ Corvo began to tighten around him, his back curving further. He began writhing so much he thought he must have been throwing Daud off. But the man’s hands forced his hips in place, digging into his flesh as though he were an anchor. _"Daud-!"_ The pressure became too intense, too much, and Corvo felt himself pushed over the edge, his senses overloaded so completely that whiteness burst behind his eyes.

Daud pressed his mouth against Corvo’s neck, breathing in, trying to taste him. With a hoarse shout, Daud’s hands tightened on him, the thrust of his hips erratic as he found his own release, spilling into him. As he slowed, his breath heavy and hot against the back of Corvo’s shoulder, Daud leaned over him, still rocking gently.

As Corvo gradually came back to himself, he noticed the mess they’d made of the cabin; sheets twisted and damp, bed shifted a few inches further to the wall because of their movements. “Stride’ll want words with us.”

Daud huffed a laugh. “I’m sure this place has seen worse in its time.” He pulled out slowly, and Corvo tried not to hiss at the feeling. Daud’s thumbs rubbed soothingly either side of his hips, and then he collapsed beside him on the mattress. He brushed Corvo’s damp hair back from his face. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. But I prefer facing you.”

“Hmph. Soft-hearted fool.” He traced the length of Corvo’s jaw, eyes wandering over his face. “I love hearing your voice like that. You’re normally so quiet.”

Corvo dropped his gaze, self-conscious. He suddenly thought of the last Fugue Feast; of the way that red-haired Overseer cried out and threw back his head and whispered things in Daud's ear as they ground against the wall. Corvo wished he could be more like that.

“I’m trying to work on it. I’ll get better–”

“No.” Daud pressed a kiss to his jaw, to each corner of his mouth. “I don't want you to work on it. You’re quiet, it’s how you are. Don’t you dare change yourself.” It was mouthed against Corvo’s skin, tone thick with adoration, acceptance.

Corvo felt a pressure clench in his chest. He curled into Daud, pressing against him anywhere he could. “I love you.”

He heard Daud swallow. “Soft-hearted fool,” he repeated quietly.

Corvo smiled and laid his head on the man’s bare shoulder; on the familiar feel of the hard muscles beneath his cheek. “Leg still work?”

Daud moved it, then winced. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have done that, after all.”

“Your fault.”

“You seemed just as eager.”

Corvo couldn’t deny that. Daud grabbed the edge of the sheets and tugged them over him, wrapping them around in a cocoon. Corvo yawned and nestled close, feeling Daud’s arms surround him completely. Corvo drifted, warm and relaxed as he was now. But Daud’s fingers wouldn’t still; they kept running over his skin, uneasy.

Corvo, with effort, pushed his exhaustion aside and peered up at him, expectant.

“We don’t have to go back to Dunwall.”

Corvo glared. “If you forgot something at Brigmore, now’s a shitty time to–”

“Could you refrain from being such a brat for a moment?” Daud sighed. “We could go somewhere else. Anywhere else. To Serkonos, if that’s what you want. I’ve been considering it for a while.”

Corvo suddenly felt short of breath, mouth parted and heart racing in his chest.

“Thomas is more than capable of leading the men now. I know he doesn’t see it that way, but he is. He could carry on the work, or end it completely if he wishes. It doesn’t matter.” Daud traced his thumb over Corvo’s lower lip. There was something desperate in his eyes. “We have enough coin. And Stride would agree to take us. We could forget about Dunwall. We could leave everything behind. Start again.”

Corvo thought of all those times he wanted exactly this. Just him and Daud, somewhere far away. _Yes,_ he said in his mind. _Yes. Yes._

But he realised he was shaking his head. “I can’t–”

“We can.”

“Daud–”

“Run away with me.”

“Daud.” Corvo dropped his head against Daud’s chest. “I can’t.”

He wished he could. He wanted nothing more than to turn away and run. If Daud had asked before all this, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Maybe they’d have found a normal cottage, in a normal city, with normal jobs. Normal lives. He’d see Daud every day. He’d fall asleep with him every night and wake up with him every morning. Corvo wished Daud had asked him six months ago.

“I can’t leave.”

Daud’s expression hardened, trying to hide the dejection that Corvo plainly saw on his face. “Tell me why.”

“Campbell’s book. Emily. The Lord Regent.” Corvo frowned, realizing how far his commitment to the girl truly went. She was the heir to the throne; a throne that Hiram Burrows currently sat on. The more Corvo got involved in this, the more complications were certain to follow. “I have to do something. I have to fix it.”

“Why you? Let someone else deal with Dunwall and the Lord Regent. Let someone else find Emily. Why do _you_ have to fix it?” Daud took his shoulder, trying to read his expression. “You owe this city nothing.”

Corvo tilted his jaw. Dunwall was where he met Daud. Where he’d learned to fight, where he’d grown up with Quinn and Arden and the others. Dunwall was where he’d mastered his powers and made his home. Where he’d lived.

“I owe it everything.” He cupped Daud’s jaw and ran his thumbs along the lines of his cheekbones, apologetic. “I can’t leave it like this. I don’t expect you to understand. Even I don’t.”

“But you’ve made up your mind. I can tell.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Your determination is remarkable. But by the Void, your stubbornness pisses me off.” Daud pulled him back into his hold. “I suppose I ought not to run off and leave you here, then. Outsider knows the trouble you’d get into on your own.”

Corvo nuzzled against him again, feeling guilt clawing his insides. “One day. We’ll leave one day, if the offer still stands.”

“It’ll stand until you agree.” Daud pressed a kiss into his hair. “You’ve already saved the damned city once today. Saving it once more can wait for now. Sleep.”

Corvo did, resolved in his choice to remain fixed in Dunwall’s future.

***

In the Void, Emily greeted him with a smile, and gave him her drawing. A mask in the shape of a skull.


	4. The Next Move

The Hound Pits was well kept, warmly decorated, but Corvo didn’t like the space around the bar. It was too cramped; not enough room to manoeuvre decently in a fight, nowhere high enough to perch or dark enough to hide. He tried not to let his discomfort show through fidgeting, as he wanted. He settled for chewing on the inside of his lip as he examined the pub’s resident Overseer.

Martin hadn’t changed since Corvo had eavesdropped on him and his companion in Campbell’s private sanctum. Silver tongue and scheming eyes. Even if he wasn’t an Overseer, Corvo wouldn’t like him.

Daud liked him even less. He and the Overseer seemed to have developed an instant loathing for one another. Corvo could almost taste the tension in the pub. He was grateful for Thomas’s presence; the Whaler was keeping an unwavering eye on Daud, making sure he didn’t lunge for the Overseer’s throat.

Corvo checked on the jittery nobleman in the corner. He was nursing a flask of foul, sweet smelling liquor. Corvo tried not to wrinkle his nose at the smell.

“When you made contact with us, you agreed you’d come alone.” Admiral Havelock had obviously established himself as the leader among the three men. He was attempting to maintain an air of authority, which Corvo supposed must have been difficult with Daud in the room. The Admiral’s eyes gave away his unease.

“You agreed to meet alone too.” Corvo jerked his head towards Havelock’s two companions. “But here we are.”

The Admiral’s unease grew palpably. “Yes. Here we are.” He folded his hands behind his back. “This seems like the right time to ask why you arranged this meeting. Your man,” his gaze flit in Thomas’s direction, “didn’t give much away about what it is you wanted with us.”

“Answers.” Corvo reached into his coat and drew out Campbell’s black book. Martin’s eyes widened almost comically when he saw it. “You’ve been looking for this.” Corvo placed the journal on the bar, his hand resting on it cagily. “I want to know why.”

***

TWO WEEKS AGO

“Keep your hands up.” Corvo showed him how. “Like this. Your arms can take more of a beating than your face.”

The recruit timidly raised his arms to block. Corvo moved them into the correct position, bent at the elbows, crossed at the wrists. Then he gave a nod.

“Let’s try again.”

The novices grouped together in the training room watched silently, their gazes eager and fixed on the pair. Corvo wondered if he’d been so wide-eyed when he was in training. He suspected he had, once. The pups looked like what they were; a bunch of gawking street kids, eager to learn, and overconfident. They didn’t yet understand the amount of effort their training involved. Corvo would break them out of that.

“Begin.”

The novice, a short boy from Morley, took his swing; aim poor and stance all wrong. Corvo stepped from reach, whipped his leg forward and tripped him, sending the boy onto his back with a surprised yelp. There were gasps and a few whoops from the crowd. The boy’s face was bright red, due to embarrassment or his fall, Corvo couldn’t tell.

“What’s your name?”

“Dodge, Sir.”

Corvo raised an eyebrow. “Dodge?”

The boy nodded, blushing further when his comrades laughed among themselves.

Corvo turned his glare on them, and that was enough to silence the room. He offered his hand down to the kid. “We’ll have you living up to that name in no time.”

Dodge allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I’ll have no ‘Sirs’ here,” Corvo said. “Corvo’s fine.”

“Yes, Master Corvo.”

Corvo frowned, but didn’t correct him again. “Tell me where you went wrong.”

“I, uh,” Dodge floundered for an answer. “I wasn’t fast enough?”

“Your speed’s good,” Corvo said. “Your stance isn’t steady enough. Makes it difficult to keep your balance.” Corvo stood, one leg forward, one slightly back. “Like this. So it’s harder to be taken down.”

Dodge copied him, arms up, elbows bent, legs in position.

“Good.” Corvo stepped forward. “Again.”

Dodge swung, from the left this time. Corvo evaded, coming forward to trip him. When he kicked, Dodge stumbled but didn’t fall, and he managed to back away before Corvo could catch him again.

The novice smiled, proud, and Corvo nodded. “Better. Stance is still shit, but you’ll get there.”

A few recruits chuckled at his bluntness, and Corvo heard a dramatic sigh as Rulfio entered the room. The Whaler leant against the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at him.

“Some praise here and there won’t hurt them, Attano.”

“Praise won’t improve his stance,” Corvo argued. He blinked to the back of the room, and the novices gasped with awe at the sight of it; it was very different from their own transversals. Corvo ignored them, collecting the blunted Overseer sabres they’d hoarded from the surge. The blades had proven useful for training exercises. “Take one each. Pair up, and practice what I’ve shown Dodge.”

The group gathered hastily and retrieved their weapons, moving to the centre of the room in twos. Corvo sidestepped them and perched on another weapons crate beside Rulfio at the door. He took the coffee offered to him.

“Thanks.” He took a sip. “Good today.”

“Seems Rinaldo’s finally heeded Daud’s warning.”

“What warning?

“That if he attempts one more batch of coffee, he’ll be Galia and Jordan’s escort for their honeymoon to Tyvia.”

Corvo smirked. “That’s quite the threat. It’s uncomfortable enough just seeing them together. Especially since the engagement.”

“That’s rich,” Rulfio said. “You and Daud are worse.”

“Not possible.”

“Trust me. You’re worse, and you’re not even engaged.”

Corvo hummed, blowing over his drink to cool it. Steam drifted from the surface. He wondered vaguely whether Daud’s offer to run away with him one month ago counted as a proposal. It must have done.

Rulfio glanced down at him from where he leaned. “What are you smiling about?”

Corvo mumbled something, but the words were stifled behind the mug as he took another sip. He watched as Dodge managed to trip his partner. When the boy looked his way for approval, Corvo granted him a brief smile, and motioned for them to continue.

Rulfio chuckled. “And you argued you’d be a poor tutor."

“I’m not exactly at your level.”

The Whaler looked flattered by the comment. “True. No one’s better than me, that’s impossible. But they certainly respect you.”

“I threatened to throw them off the walkways and teach them to transverse that way, if they ever talked back to me.”

Rulfio glowered. “I take back everything I just said.”

“Seemed to work. They’re behaving.” The last few mornings Corvo had spent training the pups had gone better than he’d expected. “I don’t want to murder any of them yet, at least.”

“Unlike how I felt about you, the first time you trained,” Rulfio remarked.

“I was a delight.”

“You were a fucking menace,” the Whaler shook his head. “Still are, just with a smarter mouth. Never thought I’d miss the days you were a novice. I got less cheek from you then.”

Corvo felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards. He placed his now empty mug down on the crate, then announced to the group. “Wristbows are next. I’ll leave you in Rulfio’s capable hands.” He shot the man a thin smile. “If he’s not busy, of course.”

Corvo suspected if looks could kill, Rulfio’s would have rendered him to ashes. “Void curse you, you know I’m not,” the Whaler bit out. “You’re still taking the pups tomorrow morning. Don’t think you can wriggle out of it.”

“Shouldn’t call them pups.” Corvo slid off the crate and moved to the window. He waved to Rulfio over his shoulder. “I owe you. I’ll bring you some food later.”

“You’d better.”

“Make sure they can put a bolt in something by sundown.”

“Fuck you, Attano.”

Corvo dropped out into the courtyard, then blinked to the floor above. He landed on one of the window ledges of the archive room. Chester spilled his tea when Corvo appeared.

“Outsider’s eyes, Corvo,” the Whaler cursed. He tugged off his gloves and mopped the spill with them. “You’re lucky this didn’t go on one of the tomes. Some of these are ancient. Ancient, I tell you.”

Corvo slipped into the room, coming to inspect the volume Chester was reading. It was mostly written in old Pandyssian, apart from the small notes Chester had made on the pages.

“If you can read Pandyssian, why are you having trouble with Campbell’s book?” Corvo hopped up to the largest bookcase, taking the High Overseer’s journal from the top shelf.

“Because,” Chester sighed, as Corvo took a seat opposite him, “there is a distinct difference between deciphering a different language, and deciphering something written in code, dear boy. Patience.”

Corvo was fast losing patience. But Chester was possibly the wisest man Corvo knew besides Daud and Rulfio, so he tried to reign in his frustration. “I could go back to the Office. There might be something there that could help break it down.”

Chester peered at him over his spectacles. “Do you truly think Daud will allow you to return to Holger Square?”

Corvo chewed on the inside of his mouth. “Yes?”

“I’m old, Corvo, not a fool.” Chester held his spectacles steady, and began examining the first page of Campbell’s book . “The day Daud sees you return there will be the day Hiram Burrows invites the poor to use his lavatory.”

Corvo almost smiled at the image. “Has Feodor given the codes another look?”

“He gave it a crack yesterday afternoon while you were in the training room,” the Whaler answered, flicking a few pages ahead, fingers running over the page. “Boy couldn’t find anything out. The High Overseer was a cock, but he was no imbecile. He’s not made this easy for us.”

One month of attempting to decipher Campbell’s journal, and they had uncovered nothing. Chester was their resident expert in all things code, and Feodor’s skill close followed, but the black book was something none of them had come across before. An Overseer had written it, and Corvo was starting to think they’d need an Overseer to interpret it.

He still couldn’t help believing there was something at the Office that could help them. “If you tell Daud it’s important–”

“No.”

“He might agree to–”

“No he won’t, and he’ll kill us both if I allow you to go. I don’t have a death wish just yet, Corvo,” Chester said calmly, not looking up from the book. “You’re not going, and if you do, I’ll know. I know everything.”

“Apart from how to decode this.”

“Apparently so.” The Whaler licked a finger tip, turned another page, then picked up his pen. “Let’s try this again, shall we. Perhaps we’ll have more luck today.”

Corvo nodded, and leaned over the table to begin their work.

***

Staying inside for any long period was trying, but the archive room felt stuffy and confining given the hours Corvo had committed to spending there. After six had passed, they were no closer to decoding the book, Corvo was no closer to Emily Kaldwin, and his dissatisfaction was threatening to get the better of him. He gave Chester his leave late afternoon, and decided to call it a day.

“We’ll take another look tomorrow,” the Whaler said as Corvo returned the black book to its shelf. “If we start looking at it a different way, perhaps we’ll see whatever it is we’ve been missing.”

Corvo nodded his thanks, and left the room. He appreciated the reassurance, but he doubted they’d be making progress any time soon without the help of an Overseer. Corvo growled to himself as he headed for the kitchen. They’d returned the Overseer prisoners back to their people a few weeks ago, and there were none among the Whalers who were ex-Abbey. Corvo shouldered the kitchen door open more violently than necessary.

Hobson raised an eyebrow at him. “Foul mood, Attano. No surprises there, eh?”

“Food. For Rulfio.”

“Manners.”

“Please,” Corvo said, sincere. “Sorry. Haven’t gotten anywhere–”

“With the book, I’d guessed,” Hobson finished for him, opening up the oven. “You’ve been working day and night on that thing since Brigmore. Still nothing?”

Corvo shook his head. He looked over the scantly occupied tables, thinking who might have a connection to an Overseer, or at least someone with Overseer knowledge. But he quickly remembered that he was the only Whaler to ever leave the Office alive. He deflated, sinking against the counter Hobson stood behind.

“If Chester can’t manage to get anything out of that book,” Hobson said, plating up some bread, blood sausage, and a few apples, “I wouldn’t hold out much hope. Man’s been decoding since before you were a gaffer.”

“How comforting,” Corvo muttered. “Thanks,” he added, taking Rulfio’s plate and avoiding the Whalers bustling into the kitchen for dinner. When he made it back into the corridor, he felt someone join his side.

“Still no luck?”

“No.”

“Shit. Chester’s really met his match,” Quinn remarked, nursing his drink between his hands. He glanced at Corvo’s plate of food. “That for Rulf?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said, swiping one of the apples and taking a bite. “Promised I’d give him a hand with something.”

They transversed to the lower floor, and entered the training room. Only Dodge and another boy were there, still practising the stance Corvo had taught them that morning.

“Where’s Rulfio?”

The pups jumped and turned to face them. They stood to attention.

“He left for the kennels, Sir– Master Corvo,” Dodge corrected. “Andrei asked him to help with the hounds about an hour ago.”

“Come on, then,” Quinn turned back into the corridor and tugged Corvo’s sleeve. “Guy asks me to help him, then disappears. Fucking gentleman, that one.”

Corvo glanced at Dodge over his shoulder as they left. “Stance looks better. Keep it up.” He saw the kid beam, and he resisted the urge to add something sarcastic. Maybe praise didn’t hurt, now and again.

He and Quinn climbed through the window onto the walkways outside the Chamber. The District was bathed in pink and orange from the slowly setting sun. Corvo squinted when the light hit him.

“Shit. A nice evening in Dunwall?”

“Unheard of,” Corvo said. They blinked to water level, moving to the kennels around the base of an old financial building. “What does Rulfio want help with?”

“He’s wants to work out how to teach the pups to use stun mines, without them accidentally knocking themselves out,” Quinn grinned.

“Like you did, when we first used chokedust?”

“Thanks for reminding me of that, shit bag,” the Whaler glowered. “We really were choffers back then, weren’t we.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Speak for _yourself._ You were way worse than me.”

“You’re both as bad as each other,” Rulfio cut in as they approached the kennels. The wolfhounds were loose again. Rulfio and Andrei were wrestling the beasts back into their cages. “I could hear you all the way from the walkways, you loud-mouthed tits.”

“Who are you calling a tit, tit.” Quinn caught Kallisarr by the scruff of his neck and pushed him into his makeshift kennel. “Heavy furballs. What have you been eating?”

“All the rats, by the looks of it. I haven’t seen any around for weeks,” Andrei said, stumbling when Lord Bayle jumped up at him. “Down, you mangy thing! No, I don’t have any bloody food, now get back in your pen. You’re not on patrol today.”

Corvo crouched down to greet Ox, the bulkiest wolfhound they had. Arden had named him, insisting the creature was the size of a blood ox. The hound slobbered against Corvo’s shoulder, tail wagging aggressively. Corvo felt his foot quickly become numb under the beast’s weight.

“Go on,” he nudged Ox into his kennel, granting him one of Rulfio’s blood sausages when he went without a fight. Corvo looked at the final cage. “Where’s Esma?”

“She bolted for the Chamber a while ago. Didn’t have time to chase her– no, Kallisarr– no, Rulfio’s leg is not a chew toy,” Andrei sighed, hauling the beast away.

“I’ll find her,” Corvo said, passing Rulfio his plate of food and then leaving them to it.

“I never asked,” he heard Quinn pipe up behind him, as he blinked back up to the walkways. “Who the Void named them Lord Bayle and Kallisarr?”

“Who do you think?”

Quinn sighed. “Fucking Jenkins.”

Already suspecting where Esma had bolted to, Corvo took the short cut around the chamber, below the statue of the Empress. When he transversed onto the windowsill of the bedroom, he found he was correct. The hound was settled at Daud’s feet, snout resting on his leg as the man scratched her ear absently. There were books scattered on the floor, and a few on the bed where Daud sat. He was pouring over a particularly heavy looking one.

Corvo stepped inside and padded across the space. He plucked the book from Daud’s fingers and let it drop onto the sheets, before straddling the man’s lap. Esma whined her loss of attention, then huffed and curled up on the floor.

Daud narrowed his eyes. “I was reading that.” His hands had already moved to Corvo’s sides to keep him in place, his fingers moving leisurely over his shirt.

“More politics and natural philosophy? It’s all you ever read.”

“What would you recommend?”

Corvo canted his head, considering. “Princess of Tyvia?”

“You think you’re funny,” Daud grated out, catching Corvo’s lower lip between his teeth and tugging. Corvo drew closer for a proper kiss.

“I am funny.”

“You’re a smartass.”

“And you’re a hypocrite.” Corvo jerked his head down towards Esma, now snoring softly on the floorboards. “‘They’re nothing but fleabags, Corvo. I’ve a mind to make them into rugs, we’ll get more use out of them that way’.”

“I don’t sound like that,” Daud growled, bumping Corvo’s jaw with his nose.

“You like them. Admit it.”

Daud sighed through his nose, glancing at the wolfhound. “They’re not intolerable.”

“That’s high praise, coming from you.”

“Smartass,” Daud repeated.

Corvo peered down. “How’s your leg?”

Daud huffed, moving it around with ease. “It’s been a month. Stop fretting over it, it’s healed.” He looked back at Corvo, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Shouldn’t you be training the new recruits?”

“Shouldn’t you be doing reports? Sir,” Corvo added for good measure, and Daud’s answering growl rumbled against him.

Corvo laughed, and Daud chased the sound, holding Corvo steady against him while they kissed. With the Overseer drapes gotten rid of, the evening light filtered into the room through the windows, and it made the moment feel strangely tender. The light softened the hard lines of Daud’s face. Corvo pressed their foreheads together, their noses touching and his hands resting on the man’s shoulders, feeling the way his shirt stretched over them.

Daud caught his jaw in one hand, angling Corvo’s gaze to his. “What’s wrong?”

Corvo frowned. “Nothing.”

“You’re only this clingy when something’s wrong,” Daud teased, but his tone was laced with concern. “What is it?”

Corvo looked down at the floor, eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t think we can decode the book,” he said bitterly. After all the trouble he’d gone through to get Campbell’s journal, and they couldn’t even decipher one word.

Daud’s fingers found their way beneath Corvo’s shirt, and began grazing over the taut skin of his waist. Corvo guessed it was an attempt to soothe him. “It’s not like you to give up.”

“I’m not giving up,” Corvo bit out, harsher than he’d intended.

Esma’s head perked up, brown eyes snapping up to him. She shuffled over and laid her head on Corvo’s thigh, where it rested alongside Daud’s. Corvo sighed and gave her head a quick stroke.

“I hate feeling so useless,” he admitted quietly to Daud. “I wish I hadn’t branded Campbell. I could’ve brought him here, interrogated him instead of using that stupid book–”

“Don’t dwell on what could have happened,” Daud cut him off gently. “What’s done is done. Focus on what you have now. You have the book, and the means to find Emily. Think about what else you need. It might help to go through this aloud.”

Daud was ever the bearer of wise words. Corvo felt himself smile genuinely for the first time that day. “I need an Overseer.”

“You think they’ll recognise Campbell’s code?”

“I think they’ll have a better understanding than us.” Corvo recalled his second trip to the Office, when he had followed two of the cultists into Campbell’s private sanctum. “Before I found the book, another Overseer was searching for it.”

“So you told me. Martin, was it?”

“He sounded confident he’d know what to do with it. That’s how we’ll decode the journal.” Corvo’s smile widened to a grin, and he surged forward, crushing his lips to Daud and almost knocking the man back.

Daud chuckled against his mouth, keeping them both steady under Corvo’s excitement. “Outsider’s eyes.”

Corvo edged back, embarrassed. He rarely lost control like that.

Daud hummed, amused, and then kissed him again. Now having decided what his next move was Corvo found it easy to melt against him, his muscles becoming slack.

“Thank you,” he said, thumbs tracing the length of Daud’s jaw. “Apparently talking about it does help.”

“I’m glad. But,” Daud began, eyes suddenly becoming sharp, “if you think I’m letting you return to Holger Square to find this Overseer alone, you’re mistaken.”

“How do you expect me to find him if I–”

“I said you’re not finding him _alone,”_ Daud growled. “I’m going with you.”

Corvo blinked.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Daud said, sighing. “You sacrificed six months searching for word of Delilah, on my orders. Now searching for this girl is important to _you.”_ He wrapped Corvo tighter in his arms, and the devotion in Daud’s voice left Corvo’s skin tingling. “Let me help, any way I can. I want to do this together.”

Corvo heard the meaning behind it. No more leading and following, no more orders. Together. Equals. He wondered how long Daud had considered them like that. Since Brigmore? Or since Corvo’s return from Holger Square? Maybe since the night of the Empress’s murder.

“Together, then,” he answered.

***

Corvo woke up before sunrise. His eyes felt heavy, and his head ached from how quickly he’d fallen asleep the night before. He blearily pushed himself off Daud, peering around the dim bedroom. He remembered their conversation and agreement to find Martin, to use him to decode the book. Corvo shivered with pleasure at everything that had happened after that. Their clothes were still strewn about the floor, creased and discarded carelessly.

An arm snagged him around the waist, and pulled him down. “Go the fuck back to sleep.”

Corvo stretched, shaking his head against Daud’s shoulder. “I want to go for a walk.”

A grunt. “You have strange and irritating habits.”

“Let me up.”

Another grunt, resigning. “Very well. Though don’t expect me to allow you back here, when you decide it’s too cold outside.”

Corvo practically tumbled out of the bed, still drowsy. He retrieved his shirt and trousers from the floor, then sat down to pull on his boots. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Daud shuffled to push his head against Corvo’s lower back.

“Take my coat.”

Boots on, Corvo knelt beside the bed and raked his fingers into Daud’s hair. Daud leaned into it, and any reservations Corvo felt about comparing him to a wolfhound vanished. He pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Daud shoved him away, but Corvo saw the edges of his lips curve up, almost hidden by the sheets. He took Daud’s coat from the floor and shrugged it on, hopping up onto the window ledge. When he glanced behind him, Daud had already fallen asleep again. Corvo allowed himself the sight for a few seconds, then dropped down onto the walkways outside the office.

The icy morning air cut through his flesh, and he shivered. He cursed Daud for being right; he wanted nothing more than to return upstairs and curl back against him. But Corvo’s stubbornness urged him onwards, as well as his desire to be in the open for a while.

By the time he got to the old docks, the sun was slowly beginning to rise. The mist clouded the light, making everything in the District hazy and mysterious. He saw a silhouette near the boats, and recognised Samuel’s blue scarf as he neared.

Corvo made sure to keep his footsteps heavy, so he didn’t alarm the boatman.

Samuel glimpsed over his shoulder. “Morning, Corvo. Wasn’t expecting to see anyone out here so early.”

The boatman motioned him over, letting him know he was welcome. Corvo took a seat beside him, inspecting the work he was doing to the Amaranth. “She broken again?”

“No, no. Just a few loose bolts here and there,” Samuel answered, tightening one of the panels near the engine. “It still surprises me she’s lasted so long, given the state I found her in all those years ago.”

“You’ve taken good care of her.” Corvo took out the cigarette packet Arden had given him. Only one left. The boatman offered him his lighter, and Corvo lit it up, taking a long drag before handing the cigarette to Samuel. “Here.”

“Oh, thank you.”

The boatman put down his tools for a while, and the two of them sat contently at the river’s edge, watching the mist gradually clear from the water. Corvo huddled into Daud’s coat, pleased it was a few sizes too big around the shoulders.

“How are you getting along with the High Overseer’s book?” Samuel asked eventually. “Quinn mentioned at dinner that you’ve been having some trouble with it.”

“No one can decode it. We need an Overseer.”

“Dealing with Overseers sounds risky, especially in your line of work.”

“Dealing with anyone’s risky. This Overseer’s our best option.”

“You already know who you need?”

“One of Campbell’s men was searching for the book when I went to find it. I got his name. Martin. Should be easy enough to find.” He felt the boatman become tense at his side. Corvo glanced at him. “What?”

Samuel met his gaze uncertainly. “Teague Martin?”

“Not sure.” Corvo narrowed his eyes. “You know something?”

The boatman handed the cigarette back, eyes trained thoughtfully on the river. “This might be of no use to you, Corvo. But not long before I found you that night in the Back Yard, I was contacted by someone. I might have met your Overseer before.”

Something in Samuel’s tone had Corvo concluding once again; it was no accident he met the boatman. His mark began to itch, the way it always did when he thought of the Outsider. Whatever Samuel was about to reveal, Corvo was certain it was no coincidence.

“Who contacted you?”

“Farley Havelock. He used to be an Admiral in the Navy. He asked me to meet him, to discuss something important. I’d worked under him years ago, so I agreed,” Samuel explained. “When I went to see him, it wasn’t just the Admiral there. There were others, and this Overseer Martin was with them. I don’t know what they were up to, the Admiral didn’t give too much away.” He shook his head, “But whatever it was, they were all on edge, that much was obvious.”

“You refused to work with them?”

“I did,” Samuel replied with a firm nod. “Don’t misunderstand me, sir. The Admiral is an honourable man. But there was something there, the atmosphere, the secrecy, that rubbed me the wrong way. I politely told him that I couldn’t join them without knowing more about what I was agreeing to.”

Corvo hummed. It was the decision he would have made, had he been in the same position. “Did Havelock say what he wanted from you?”

“He didn’t say much. Remember I told you I ferried packages for the black market across the river from time to time?”

Corvo nodded shortly.

“Well, the Admiral said my knowledge of the river could give his group a valuable advantage. He said I’d be navigating them around the city by water. I’d be given shelter, elixir, food, for my cooperation. But like I said, there was too much mystery around it all.”

“I think you made the right choice,” Corvo said. “This Overseer was definitely there?”

“On my life, sir. He was there, though I’m not sure it’s the same Martin you saw”

“There’s a chance.” Corvo took a final drag of his cigarette, then stubbed it out on the docks. “Where did you meet with them?”

“The Hound Pits pub, in the Old Ports District. We weren't far from it the night I met you, down by the river. The area was blockaded after the Lord Regent took the throne, so I doubt the Watch goes near it anymore.”

Corvo touched the boatman’s shoulder briefly as he stood. “Thank you.”

Samuel nodded. “I’m sorry of it turns out to be nothing, Corvo.”

Corvo’s mark glowed briefly. “Something tells me it won’t.”

He went across the harbour, and towards the Rail Station, heading back to the base; without the early morning fog, it was a lot quicker. He spotted a familiar figure on the Chamber roof. Daud was always up there the first thing in the morning. He just spent an hour or so looking over the District, sometimes smoking, sometimes reading. Corvo found it endearing. It was also something about Daud that he’d never known until he’d woken in the man’s bed for the first time.

Corvo appeared beside him, and perched at the edge of the roof.

“Enjoy your walk?”

“It was cold.”

“Hmph.” Daud drew him closer, until Corvo’s back was pressed against his chest and his arms were wrapped around his smaller frame. “The coat suits you.”

“It’s too big.”

“Ungrateful shit,” Daud muttered against the back of Corvo’s neck.

Corvo nestled against him, letting himself be shrouded in warmth. “I went to see Samuel.”

“And how is our resident boatman?”

Corvo laced his fingers through Daud’s, examining their hands intertwined. “He has a lead on Martin.”

Daud became tense against him. “That can’t be a coincidence.” His thumb brushed over the mark on Corvo’s hand.

“I was supposed to meet Samuel and bring him here,” Corvo said quietly. “I’m supposed to find Martin, too.”

“You’re not supposed to do anything,” Daud said sternly. “That black-eyed bastard has no say in what you choose to do.”

Corvo wasn’t so sure. The Outsider wanted Daud to follow Delilah, and it happened. He wanted Corvo to use his mark to get rid of High Overseer Campbell, and it happened. He wanted to watch the confrontation between his chosen three, and it happened. Corvo suspected the Outsider wanted him to follow Samuel’s lead on Martin too, and of course Corvo would. He had to find Emily, and decoding that book was his only means of doing so.

Corvo was drawn from his thoughts when Daud rested his head on his shoulder, lips beneath his ear. “Tell me what Samuel said.”

Corvo relayed the boatman’s connection to Martin, and the group he’d been contacted by in the Old Port District.

“I’ve heard of this Admiral before,” Daud muttered. Corvo wasn’t surprised; Daud seemed to have heard of everyone in the Isles. “He had an impressive reputation when he served under the Empress.”

“Why’d he leave the Navy?”

“He walked away. It was a scandal,” Daud said. “He and the Lord Regent didn’t see eye to eye, and the Admiral refused to sail under his banner, so he renounced his position in the fleet. I’m surprised Burrows didn’t have him arrested.”

“So he wasn’t Burrows’ biggest supporter.”

“No.” Daud caught his chin, tilting Corvo’s gaze to him. “What are you thinking?”

“The Admiral wouldn’t tell Samuel what his group was doing, unless he agreed to join them. Samuel said they were all afraid of something.” Corvo turned to face him, kneeling at the edge of the roof. “What’s anyone in Dunwall afraid of, besides the plague?”

“The Regent.”

“I know what they’re doing,” Corvo said. “Why they needed Samuel to navigate the river.”

Daud nodded, understanding. “They’re moving against Burrows.”

“And they might be trying to find Emily,” Corvo said, almost out of breath as he put the pieces together. “Maybe that’s why Martin was after the book. We–”

“I know what you’re going to say.” Daud took his face in his hands. “You want to meet with them. Make a deal.”

“We need Martin.”

“And you want to stop the Regent.” Daud heaved a sigh, but his expression was fond, albeit mildly irritated. “The Old Port District is barely an hour from here. I’ll send Thomas to scout the area and report back. If we can arrange to meet with this group Samuel spoke of, we can find out more about what they’re doing.”

Corvo frowned. “You’re not this agreeable.”

“I’ve realised, after ten years, that it’s useless arguing with you. I’ll lose less sleep if I just agree to what you want and keep an eye on you that way,” Daud grated out. “You’ll end up going there no matter what my answer is, I know. So I’d prefer you to go once the area’s been checked out.”

“And when it has?”

“I’ll send Thomas and Vladko to make contact. I believe they’re our most amiable choice.”

“You don’t want to send Arden too? For the muscle?”

“Void, no,” Daud grimaced. “Man’s too vulgar. He’ll hash any deal before it’s even been made.”

“Yeah.” Corvo spent a few seconds looking at Daud. He couldn’t see any reservation or ulterior motive in his expression. Just acceptance, and slight resolve. “Thank you, for doing this.”

Daud grunted dismissively, pulling Corvo back into his hold. “Don’t thank me. I haven’t said it, but I want to find the girl too.”

Corvo smiled. “I know.” Daud had chased Delilah for Emily’s sake. It was obvious he felt responsible for her, perhaps as much as Corvo did. “I was wondering when you’d admit you were soft.”

Daud nudged his knee into Corvo’s side. “I should have you thrown off this roof for insubordination.”

“Apparently once you fuck your boss, its custom to be insubordinate.”

“Did Arden tell you that?”

“Stride.”

Daud chuckled. “Of course she did.”

Whatever else he might have said was interrupted as Thomas appeared behind them, the _thwrp_ of his transversal drawing their attention. “Sir. Excuse the interruption.”

Daud growled quietly, but motioned for him to speak.

“Zachary and Killian have returned from their patrol. They’re waiting to report back downstairs.”

Daud gently pushed Corvo off him and stood. Corvo followed suit, getting to his feet and stretching. He always felt stiff after sitting, for any period of time.

“Thomas.” Daud stopped the Whaler from transversing away. “We have a new development on Campbell’s book. There’s a lot to discuss.”

Corvo followed them downstairs.

***

TWO WEEKS LATER

“So you have the book?” Martin’s voice was smooth and sharp as a steel blade. It made Corvo shudder. “Might I ask how exactly you came to find it? I’ve been searching for weeks.”

Corvo didn’t answer him. He turned his attention to the Admiral instead. “Your former boatman’s with us. He mentioned you and your group.”

“And we know of you as well, of course,” Havelock answered warily, taking in their appearance. His eyes settled on Daud. “I’ve heard the stories. Including the one that points to you as Hiram Burrows’ assassin for hire.”

The accusation was clear in the Admiral’s tone. Daud didn’t rise to it. He merely narrowed his eyes coldly. “We’re no ally to the Regent. Our association with him is over.”

“And we’re supposed to trust the man who murdered the Empress?” It was the first time the nobleman had spoken.

He was one of the Pendleton brothers, though Corvo couldn’t tell which. His face was thin, and his accent held a shrill tenor that had Daud noticeably gritting his teeth.

“For all we know, the Regent could have discovered why we’re here,” Pendleton protested. “He could have sent _you_ to deal with us personally–”

“Quiet, Trevor,” the Admiral said hastily, but Pendleton had already given them away.

“So you are working against Burrows.” Corvo patted the black book, still on the surface of the bar, “And you need this to find Emily Kaldwin.”

Martin clenched his fists, frustrated. “How could you possibly know that?”

“It seems your Overseer isn’t used to not being the smartest person in the room,” Daud derided.

Martin sneered and opened his mouth to snap something back, but a raised hand from Havelock stopped him. The Admiral was looking contemplatively at Corvo. “Do you know where the Kaldwin girl is? Your people took her.”

Corvo chewed on the inside of his mouth. “She’s been moved. We don’t know where she is.”

“And that’s why you have the book,” Havelock finished, comprehending. “Why are you after her?”

“Our reasons are our own,” Corvo answered icily. “But we don’t want her harmed,” he decided to add. He had to admit, it must have looked suspicious; the previous murderers of the Empress searching for the next heir to the throne. “We want her safe.”

Martin and Pendleton looked to the Admiral for his input. Havelock spent a few moments regarding Corvo and his companions. Corvo felt Daud shift closer to him, his hard gaze fixed on the Overseer. Corvo resisted the urge to reach for him and calm him down. Daud was always on edge when an Overseer was in his sight.

“It’s true.”

Corvo raised an eyebrow at the Admiral.

“Everything you may have suspected, about what we’re doing here,” Havelock continued. His tone was resigned, almost relieved to be admitting it aloud. “It’s all true.”

Pendleton spluttered harshly. “Outsider’s eyes, Havelock! What are you doing?”

“Admiral,” Martin warned.

“Quiet.” Havelock raised his hand again, cutting off any arguments. He looked Corvo in the eye, resolute in what he had begun to confess. “I’m going to come out with it. We’ve been building a coalition of loyalists, aimed at ending the Lord Regent’s tyranny and restoring the throne–”

“Havelock,” Martin interrupted, tone strict. “You shouldn’t be telling them this.”

“Grow a backbone, Overseer,” Daud bit out.

“Martin,” Havelock said tiredly. “This could be a momentous opportunity for our cause. We’ve gotten nowhere so far without that blasted book. I am making the decision to be honest with these men.” He looked at Corvo, expression on tenterhooks, “I can only have faith that they’ll grant us the same courtesy.”

Corvo nodded briefly, signalling the Admiral to continue.

“The Lord Regent cannot be allowed to continue. He’s let the city fall into ruin,” Havelock said.

He was clearly quite the speaker; articulate as any noble. Corvo schooled his expression into one of comfortable cynicism, letting the Admiral know he wouldn’t be persuaded by fancy words or an eloquent voice. Corvo was only interested in the truth.

“And as you have no doubt guessed, we’re committed to finding Lady Emily, and seeing her crowned as Empress,” Havelock continued. “We’ve got big plans, but we can’t go through with any of them without the journal. We need it to discover Emily’s location.”

“And we need your Overseer to decipher Campbell’s code.” Corvo scrutinized the three men. “How exactly are you planning to remove Burrows? Do you have an army hidden upstairs? Or are you planning to get the nobleman drunk and throw him at the Regent,” he motioned to Pendleton, “in hopes he’ll somehow knock him down a set of stairs and kill him by accident?”

Havelock blinked at his frankness. Corvo heard Thomas stifle a chuckle with a cough.

When there was no answer from the Admiral, Corvo sighed. “That’s what I thought. You don’t have a plan at all.” Emily wouldn’t be protected, let alone restored to the throne, with these idiots looking for her. Corvo stepped forward. “You get the book on one condition.”

Havelock nodded slowly.

“Agree to work with us to take down the Regent. We have tacticians and the resources to make this an even fight,” Corvo said. “You obviously can’t do it alone.”

“And who’s going to take down Burrows’ support? Do the dirty work? You?” Martin scorned. “You’re no older than a child.”

Corvo glared, resisting the urge to approach and head-butt the Overseer between his eyes. “I branded Campbell, and got in and out of your Office unnoticed. I'm already doing your 'dirty work' for you, and you couldn’t even track down a fucking book. You’re in no position to question my abilities.”

Martin was taken aback, and Corvo didn’t bother waiting for him to grasp at a retort.

He addressed Havelock again. “What’s your answer, Admiral?”

The man watched him carefully. He looked like he was seeing an opening he’d long been searching for. Eventually, he held out his hand. “You have a deal. Our people work together in this cause.”

Corvo looked sidelong at Daud. The man was still in charge of the operation; he always made the final deal.

But Daud took a step back, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t look at me,” he said, something akin to pride in his gaze. “This one’s yours.”

Corvo turned back to the Admiral, and took his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make it clearer, the Hound Pits scenes are set 6 weeks after Brigmore, and the flashbacks at Rudshore are set 4 weeks after Brigmore.
> 
> There will be an epilogue! So I suppose there is one more chapter to go, but it will only be a short one, just to tie the story off properly.
> 
> A special thank you to McDonald195, who has had to put up with my bullshit in real life for the entire summer while I wrote this story, and gave me some wonderful ideas for the fic.
> 
> And thank you so much to EVERYONE who commented, left kudos, and even just read the series. It's been amazing writing it, and the support has been incredible. As I've said in a few comments, there will be oneshots of this AU in the future, and perhaps a sequel series eventually.


	5. Emily

Prudence’s grip on her arm was harsh and began to sting, as the old Madame hauled her up the stairs to the top floor. Emily struggled, but she knew it was hopeless. It was her second attempt at escaping; both times rumbled by either the guards or Prudence herself. Emily knew she wouldn’t be able to try again for another month, at least. Prudence always called for more security after Emily tried to run away.

She was flung back into her room. Emily stumbled, but caught her balance. She glared back at Prudence; at her theatrical-looking makeup and her droopy cheeks. Emily wondered if the Madame thought she was pretty. She wasn’t.

“Try to leave again, young lady,” Prudence said through clenched teeth, “and I’ll station a guard outside this room _permanently._ And order them to have the door kept open, for an extra eye on you. Sneaky little brat.”

Emily glared long after the door was slammed shut, and she heard Prudence’s footsteps retreat back down the staircase. She slumped against the wall and slid down until she sat on the floor, huddled among her drawings. One was of Morgan and Custis. Another was of the Golden Cat sign that she could sometimes see, when she managed to get close enough to a window.

Frustration boiled inside her. She had been so close to the VIP exit. If only she’d considered the locked door, she could have taken the key from Prudence when she wasn’t looking. Emily sighed. She was going to be Empress one day. She’d have to get a lot better at planning things.

“You would know what to do,” she said quietly, picking up her final drawing to examine it. Her friend, the one with dark hair. The one she saw when she went to sleep. The one who had told her to be strong after her mother’s death. Emily wished she could tell him where she was, but each time she tried, she always woke up.

When the door creaked open, she guessed it was one of the girls coming to bring her food, or maybe Prudence coming to reprimand her some more. Emily adopted her glare again and aimed it at the entrance. Her heart stopped at the sight of the stranger standing there.

He was tall in his long coat, and a mask obscured his face. It resembled a skull; the one Emily had drawn in her dreams a few nights past.

Emily got to her feet warily, backing away. “Who are you?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Empress’ voices never shook. “Why are you wearing that mask?”

The stranger raised a hand, something clicking open as the mask was removed and lowered.

Emily’s eyes widened. “You...” She took a step forward, hand outstretched. Then she hesitated. She had seen him for so many nights, but only when she slept. She had started to suspect that he was only a dream. “Are you real?”

Her friend regarded her with his dark eyes; almost black, but Emily could always see the hints of warm brown in them. He cocked his head slightly, considering. “Are you?”

Emily patted herself a few times, brow furrowed. “I think so.

“Then I’m as real as you,” her friend answered. He stayed near the door, respecting Emily’s space.

Emily imagined her expression mirrored his; disbelieving, awed at seeing one another in the flesh at last, instead of in the blue world where they spoke at night.

“Are you really here?” Emily heard herself ask. “Is this another dream?”

Her friend shook his head. A short gesture, to the point. “You’re not dreaming this time, little Empress.”

 _You have to be strong now, little Empress._ Emily smiled. He had said those two words to her before, at the Tower. She had thought about them over the time she’d been captured, whenever she had tried to escape, and they had made her stronger. Braver.

Emily ran forwards and threw her arms around him, her face buried in his coat. “I knew you’d come,” she said, the words muffled.

She didn’t know her friend, not really. This was, in reality, only their second meeting. But she felt like he’d been with her since this had all began, watching over her, protecting her. She felt his arms take her in, and for the first time in six months, Emily felt truly safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the last of this series. Thank you so much everyone <3


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